Dark Fantasy
by syrupjunkie
Summary: AU. He dreams of her even though he doesn't know her. But someone else dreams too, someone dangerous... Chapter 9 Uploaded.
1. Haunted

Author's Note:  Another series!  It's AU but since it's mostly dreamscape, things that wouldn't normally happen in reality do occur.  Fun? Not quite, it's a psychological thriller, pursuing a serial killer…um yeah.   There's a lot of dream sequences…and I didn't want to put in –dream sequence- or some sort of really obvious marker…I hope you can get where reality is and where dreams are…should be okay I think.  Please read and review.

Dedication:  This for Rhea-chan.  You're the bestest!

Disclaimer:  I'd sooner be stabbed by a frozen carrot than own CCS. =P

Dark Fantasy

Chapter 1:  Haunted

The double doors swung open, stirring the still air.  A gust of summer breezed into the hospital, lacing the antiseptic odor with a light flowery scent, a sweetness welcome by the patients and staff.  A nurse fluffed a vase of flowers, greeting the doctor as he passed.  "What a wonderful morning."

Li Syaoran looked at her with a certain skepticism.  "That remains to be seen."  He strode casually over to the employee lounge, throwing his things into a locker, taking up the coffee pot.  The black liquid slurped into his cup, a congealed mass settling like syrup.  "Ugh."  He couldn't shake the feeling that there was something wrong.  He had watched the world brighten into a beautiful summer day, clouds drifting softly by, people smiling and inhaling the flowery scent.  But there was something disturbing him, all this beauty, this nature was a gift in exchange for something.  Like a sacrifice had been made for the flowers to open, something taken so that the sky could light up with the sun.  The blaring of sirens reawakened his senses, and with a groan, he put down his drink, rushing into the hallway.  

Ambulance doors parted, two paramedics taking a gurney out with urgency, wheeling a prone figure through the hospital doors.  They spoke in broken sentences, interspersed with silences as they changed reddening bandages and checked for a pulse.  "Found her on the beach.  Stabbed.  BP low…" 

The victim in question was a young woman, pale and slender, a thick ingrained dark crimson-brown stain running down the left side of her face, hair matted together by the sticky substance.  "Let's get her inside; where's the wound?"

Wheels squeaked as they rolled across the floor, the paramedics outlining her injuries.  "In the left side; he might've hit an artery..."

Syaoran nodded in understanding, setting off to work, sliding the latex gloves across skin, peering into the wound.  A bright light shone down harshly, glimmering in the still wet blood, a clean flap of skin parting to drip the red fluid.  He breathed in a concentration, gingerly probing the wound for signs of irreparable damage.  "O negative, now."

A nurse quickly obeyed, watching the life giving liquid trace its way from bag into the pale victim.  "BP's still low."

Syaoran felt something, warmness bathing his fingertips as he probed the injury, a sea of gelatinous liquid, smelling so intensely familiar and overwhelming of blood.  "The artery's punctured."  Tracing the path of spongy tissue he cringed in realization.  "The kidney's damaged; we have to get her to surgery."  He squeezed tight on the leaking artery running with the rolling gurney, disappearing behind the closing doors of the elevator.

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Signing the chart and taking one last set of vitals from the unconscious girl, Syaoran stepped into the fluorescent halls, eyelids heavy, a yawn overtaking his body.  He groaned, dropping the chart onto the counter with a clatter, trudging to the on-call room for some precious sleep.  Twenty hours without rest and tirelessly repairing a stab wound today…he lowered himself onto the mattress, the darkness cradling his strained limbs and senses.  The sallow smell of sickness faded from his mind as the gentle caress of sleep worked its way into his consciousness.

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Syaoran's eyes stirred, the unfamiliarity of his bed brushing his senses.  He shifted a shoulder experimentally bouncing as something undulated from underneath him, rippling with his movements.   Snapping awake, he turned to his side, meeting the cool skin of a white sheet, pulled taught over the rolling waterbed.  Trying to raise his body, something solid brushed against his back, feather soft and cold.  He flipped to the other side, his vision meeting the closed eyes of a woman from somewhere recent in his memories.  Her features remained peaceful and mellow, delicate and motionless.  Flushing from the nearness to her face, he jumped up from the bed, throwing off the thick quilt, bed gurgling from his removed weight.  The girl stayed asleep.  He stared incredulously at her, rumpled cotton nightdress hugging her curves, bare arms on the mattress, palms flat against the sheet.  His eyes darted around the room, looking for something familiar.  No windows, a circular room, white walls, a bare bulb hanging from a stucco ceiling.  Wasn't he just in the on-call room in the hospital?  His inner voice seemed to bellow in the room, echoing off the walls and throwing itself against him.  

His thoughts' reverberations shook the ground, ceiling cracking, plaster peeling off, bed in waves.  The girl's eyes snapped open, unseeing, blank green, burning with a disturbingly serene inflection.  She blinked a few times, silky voice slipping past her barely parted lips in a musical whisper.  "I think I could love you."

Syaoran stumbled backward, taken aback by the sudden words, his thoughts finding some kind of voice and emanating from the walls, surrounding his body.  He watched closely at the woman, her eyes staring into nothingness, focused on something behind him.  Opening his mouth to speak, the girl jerked once, a low moan of pain escaping her closed mouth.  Eyes blinked once, remaining open and blind to her surroundings.  He approached slowly, something catching his senses, the recognizable salty iron smell that always accompanied…  Quickly he flung the quilt from her body, exposing her legs, a red circle spreading from her side:  blood.  Instinctively, Syaoran turned her to face the light, dark shadows outlining her features.  He applied pressure to the wound, flashes of surgery cascading into his consciousness.  This was that girl.  But this time was different, feeling no flowing blood as he probed the wound, the red liquid already cold and coagulated.  The girl's wrists, chilled flesh, were already an indication of the inevitable; no pulse, no breath.  Syaoran looked down at his hands, covered in her blood, moving his vision to the prostrate girl, the green of her eyes bleeding into the white, diffusing to the entirety of her eyes.  Death was a companion for a doctor, yet it seemed to be unnatural to be kneeling by this dead woman.  "Who were you?"

The same fluid voice rose from the girl's chest, lips closed, blanched blue.  "Sakura."

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Syaoran jolted upright, disturbing the beads of sweat that had pooled on his forehead.  His breath came in deep inhalations as he shook his head to clear itself of the haunting images.  He squinted into the darkness, the overpowering smell of medicine and sickness around him.  The ceiling and walls remained smooth and white, sparse furniture dotting the room's landscape, a stiff hospital bed underneath him.  He lifted himself from the bed, being blinded by the fluorescent light as he staggered out of the on-call room.  Blinking to dispel the nightmarish remnants, he reached the nurses station, searching for a chart.  "Nurse, where's the chart for the stabbing victim from this morning?"

The nurse looks up replying dryly, "_Which_ stabbing?"

"The woman, when I started my shift."

"Hmm…"  She flipped through the various pads, papers crunching in her haste.  "Here it is."  Holding up the metal clipboard triumphantly, she scanned the information, memory catching up with her.  "That's right; the police wanted to see you for a moment."

Syaoran yawned.  "Why?"

"Something about her I guess; they've been waiting in her room for a few minutes now."

"And why didn't you call me?"  

"I must've forgotten."

Syaoran looked inquisitively at an open magazine, frowning at the sight of a quiz half circled.  "I see.  I'll go see them now."  He pulled at his coat, straightening the askew badge, trying to tear the dream and reality asunder.  Stepping into the virtually empty waiting room, he looked for the police.  Just as he was about to sigh and head for the employee's lounge, he spotted two uniformed figures smoking outside the hospital doors.  He knocked on the glass, both pairs of eye meeting his.  "Did you want to talk to me?"

One of the policemen looked confused for a minute.  "What?  I can't hear you."

Syaoran groaned to no one in particular, yanking open the door and heading out to meet them.  The moon hung high in the clear sky, the cool breeze whipping about the streets.  "I heard you wanted to talk to me."

"You're the doctor who took care of the Kinomoto girl?"  The speaking officer was a woman, flicking the end of her cigarette against the door.

"Sakura?"  Syaoran stood puzzled for a moment, the name escaping his lips before he could think.

The other officer, a man with a goofy contemplative look, gestured.  "Yeah her.  You're on first name basis…does that mean she's a friend?"

"Uh…no.  I've never met her."  Syaoran scowled at the other man's stupid grin.  "I'm not quite awake right now."

"I understand.  I'm Officer Sasaki; this is my partner, Yamakazi.  We wanted to ask you a few questions about Kinomoto's injuries."

"Okay.  Sure?"  Syaoran was more than confused now; why would the police want to know about a patient's injuries?

"She was brought in this morning at 8?"

"Yeah, the beginning of my shift."

"And did the paramedics tell you when she was stabbed?"

"I don't think so; the wound looked fresh.  I thought this morning."

"Can you give us a good estimate?"

"I don't think so, it looked maybe an hour before she arrived?  You should probably ask the paramedics."

"Was this stab wound in her left side?"

"Ye-es.  Hit her kidney, barely missing her renal artery."

Sasaki nodded emphatically.  "Only one wound?"

"As far as I could see."  Syaoran was lost, each question serving to confusing him further.  "What's all this about?  What's so important about where this girl was stabbed?"

"Serial killer."  Sasaki lit another cigarette, breathing the smoke into the night sky.  "It looks like she's the sixth victim.  Same beach, same weapon."

"Oh."  Syaoran shivered, a picture of some crazed maniac appearing in his mind's eye. 

"Thanks for the information; by the way, will she live?"

"It's hard to say; the damage has been repaired but if she'll wake up I don't know."

Yamakazi broke his silence handing Syaoran a card.  "Call is she does; we'd like to talk to her.  She's the only one so far that's survived an attack."

"If anything changes, I'll be sure to call."

The two officers bid Syaoran goodnight, making their way to the patrol car, the orange end of Sasaki's cigarette visible in the shadows.  Syaoran stood for a moment in the doorway.  Shaking his head dismissively, he went back inside, ready to go home.  This was a police case; he has no involvement in the case, but he couldn't shake the feeling that he would.

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Author's Notes:  The end of the first chapter.  Nothing else to say; thanks for reading?


	2. View Through The Willows

Author's Notes:  So this is another dreamscape chapter.  I did warn you after all that this fic is mostly dreams.  There are real parts in this though, so I hope you know which are real and which aren't.  I don't want to be patronizing and start labeling when a dream starts and stops.

Thanks to **Miya**, **Silent Melancholia**, **CreatiStar** (*blinks twice* um, I'll have to pass on those ideas =P), **Riley S**, **Rhea-chan** (heh heh, the secret's safe with me *zips mouth*), **Wings of Fire** (I don't think you've been around for a while), **LiSakura**, **nightshadow**, **Freija the Squeaky Coconut.**

Dark Fantasy 

Chapter 2:  View through the Willows

Syaoran rubbed a petal between his fingers, the sweet perfume of flowers and wind trailing deep into the wood.  He walked quietly down the gravel path, taking notice of the shafts of light that fell through the leaves and branches high overhead.  Floating petals danced in his wake, littering the air with strokes of colour, sweeping away the scenery behind his footfalls.  He turned to stare at the fading landscape, a vast expanse of white where once there was a deep green meadow.  A gust of wind beckoned him back to facing down the path, swirling around his face like formless fingers, turning his head to watch the glittering stones that wound through avenues of trees.

There was something entrancing about the scene, a quiet humming that seemed to span beyond human perception, but pulling him nonetheless.  He took cautious strolling strides, aware of the fading path behind him, brushstrokes disappearing into a white emptiness.  Pressing on, the ground dipped slightly, some loosened gravel bits clicking and bouncing down the ramp slope.  The trees had stopped abruptly, leaving a meadowed hill to drop towards an azure lake, shimmering in the strange light.  Syaoran looked upward to the sky, no sun or clouds, only a wide expanse of blue.  And yet, it was bright, the outlines of everything blurring together but somehow remaining distinct.  He walked on.

There was an air of expectation as Syaoran stood at the base of the hill, the blades of grass finding their way up his trouser legs and flitting across his ankles.  He watched the rippling water in anticipation, knowing something was going to happen.  But nothing did.  Sighing resignedly, he let himself drop and sit by the shore, following many iridescent fish fluttering and tumbling in the lake.  It was peace, the tranquility of laziness, being intoxicated with blankness of mind.  With a deep draught of the air, he laid back, arms stretching to entwine his fingers among the tall grasses and wildflowers.  His eyelids sank lower as they met the horizon of his lower lids, the mist of sedation heavy along his lashes.  It was a natural calm, a disturbance gradually flowed through his senses without disruption.  "Syaoran?"

Syaoran opened one eye, blearily looking at the face that now loomed above him.  He knew her, without surprise, the name slipped through his lips.  "Sakura?"  Then with a jolt, his eyes sensed the dimming around him, blackness encroaching and with the same spontaneity brightening back to its original illumination.  But he was now awake and aware, sitting up abruptly and turning to eye the woman in wonder.  "Why are you here?"

Sakura looked amused, leafy eyes dancing with delight.  "Silly Syaoran.  We were supposed to meet here remember?"

Syaoran certainly didn't remember, puzzled greatly at her suggestion.  "No.  Why were we supposed to meet here?"

Sakura looked almost hurt for a second before her smile returned.  She poked him slyly with her index finger.  "Mou, Syaoran.  You almost had me there, pretending to forget about our date and all."

"D-date?"  This was getting more and more strange by the second.  Syaoran looked distinctly uncomfortable, a flush creeping up his neck.  He didn't know her, really know her, and he was on a date with her?  And she kept insisting they knew each other well.  He didn't know what to do, except to play along, hoping that she'd part with some vital answers.  "Oh yeah, got you." He laughed awkwardly.  "So what do you want to do?"

Sakura shrugged, taking a look around her.  "Since you've been having a nice rest already, I think I should put you to work."  She grinned.  "Let's go get a boat and row across the lake."

Syaoran opened his mouth to object, but fell silent as a small wooden rowboat drifted into his view from the side.  There appeared to be no one in it, the oars dipping into the still waters and threatening to slip into the lake.  "I guess we can use that one."  Clumsily, he removed his socks and shoes, stumbling into the knee-deep water, soles slick against the muddy bottom, slime oozing through the gaps in his toes.  His face made a strange grimace as he felt the various plant material squish underneath him.  From the shore he heard Sakura laugh, waving toward him as he looked over to her.  This was bothering him immensely, not knowing what was going on, being led in confusing circles and being answered with vagaries.  Finally, mid thigh deep in the lake, he was within arms reach of the boat.  A thick coil of rope dangled halfway between security and unraveling.  He caught the cord and tugged the boat, wooden craft listlessly following his stumbling path toward shore.  When he was again knee deep, he lifted his eyes to look for Sakura, but found the emptiness in which she was a moment before.  "Where?"  He flinched as a hand touched his shoulder, twisting around to meet Sakura's smirk.  "How'd you get here?"  She parted her lips to answer but Syaoran let his eyes stray downward, frown settling on his features.  "You're knee deep in mud."

"I think that much is obvious, don't you?"  Sakura pecked him on the cheek, giggling at the red that seeped over his face.  "You still can't get over the blushing; I must be a hell of a kisser."

Syaoran strove to remain calm, letting the heat seep from his cheeks.  "N-no."  He decided to take the offensive again, fearing the awkward silence that seemed to wish to settle.  "And you're still in the mud."

Sakura rolled her eyes playfully.  "I didn't think it was fair for you to be all wet and alone so I decided to join you."  She got up on her tiptoes, trying to lift herself higher.  "Now help me in like a gentleman."

It was Syaoran's turn to roll his eyes.  "Here you go madam."  He went to give a hand to Sakura as she grabbed onto the tilting boat.  "Wait, I don't think the boat will hold."

Sakura cast a stubborn glace.  "It'll hold; I know it will."

A wave of water flooded Syaoran as he stared dismally through water-clogged eyes to his now soaked shirt.  He knew what happened, his suspicions confirmed as he looked up to see an overturned boat, oars floating around his calf.  "Sakura?"

The boat hinged open, the darkened space underneath revealing her figure, hair strung through with moisture, dress now clinging to her tightly.  She blushed an intense pink, a low ripple of laughter starting to flow from her throat.  "Don't you dare say anything Syaoran, not a thing."

Syaoran snapped his mouth shut, watching Sakura stamp to the edge of the lake, twisting the water from her clothes and hair.  He quietly pulled the boat to the shore, suppressing the wild urge to fall into the blue waters and gurgle out the laughs that were threatening to burst.  Finally, he managed to subdue himself and planted the rowboat thickly into the shore's mud, taking the oars and flinging them into the cavity with a clunk.

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Wet and wrinkled Sakura laid back against the sanded wood of the rowboat, taking glances around her as the trees ruffled and small waves rocked.  "It's nice isn't it, Syaoran?"

Syaoran exhaled slowly, letting the oars rest in the water, a near smile laying claim across his features.  "I'll admit it's really very nice."

Sakura shot out an arm, grasping Syaoran's hand and dragged him to her side.  He was inches from her face, as she closed her eyes.  Syaoran sucked in a quick breath, unsure of what do in the close proximity, but found himself pulled along by Sakura's will.  She leaned upward, meeting his lips in a quiet kiss.  Pulling away, she watched his deadpan face.  "Something wrong?"

Syaoran felt the emotions rise up, the congestion of confusion and pleasure vying for recognition.  He liked it, something soft and gradual, like a rolling wave, but he was confused entirely.  Why was she kissing him?  As he tried to voice his questions, his eyes landed on Sakura's face, an expression of uncertainty drifting across her mouth.  There was something wrong and Sakura knew it.  The boat had stopped drifting, now standstill in the suddenly green thick water, oars choked by lashing algae.  Syaoran reached to Sakura but it was too late.

"Gomen." She disappeared into the wind, body blowing away like grains of sand.

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Syaoran snapped his eyes open, peering through the lightening darkness into the recesses of his bedroom.  He rolled over, the images cascading around his senses.  But he was tired.  With a slight smile, he closed his eyes once again, feeling his breathing falling into the familiar pattern.

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A figure yawned into dawn, a surge of nervous tension gripping his insides, twisting with the pleasurable pain of inspiration.  Throwing the light sheets off to the dusty floor, he stalked quickly across his bedroom, tool in hand.  The sun lipped over the jagged edge of Tomoeda buildings and sliced across the taught canvass fabric.  Shutting his eyes for a moment, the vividness and tangibility tingled along his skin, jerking his hands to movement, eyes darting between reality and memory.  A blue sky, two lovers rowing, twisting and strangling plant ropes.  The sun was scorching in its midday arc when he let the brush fall from his hands, the painting glistening in its wet completion.  With an extended sigh, he let his eyes half shut, the tension ebbing from his body and dripping into the surroundings.  A small smile lit his mouth, lines of his face twisted cruelly, only tempered by the unbounded satisfaction flickering in his eyes.  He breathed the aromas of oil paints, leaning back against his chair and staring endlessly at his new masterpiece.  A perfect addition to his growing collection.

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Author's Notes:  Yay!  Finally got off my lazy bum to do this.  Please review?


	3. On The Rails

Author's Notes:  Finally back to doing this.

Thanks to **Riley S** (see what happens when I follow your advice?  I'm a month and a half late), **Lakshmi**, **Rhea** (ha, I made it so glaring obvious), **mya** (I'm thinking of having that inexplicable magic in this, nothing definite, just like waking up and it's five years earlier or something along those lines), **nightshadow**, **CreatiStar, Miya**.

Disclaimer:  CCS is not mine, but think of the possibilities if it were.  

**Dark Fantasy**

Chapter 3:  On the Rails

Syaoran inadvertently sent an elbow into the nearby commuter.  "Excuse me."  He pushed his way through the crowd, the mass of people so tightly packed that he found breathing nearly impossible.  Each step painstakingly wedged between the shoes and feet of others, all obliviously unaware of his dilemma.  "Sorry, excuse me."  The scenery rushed by, a streak of green and gray across the plastic windowpanes.  He pressed himself close to the connecting door, feeling for the handle, the mob of people behind him shifting around, their heat and presence an overbearing suffocation.

A scratchy grating slide, Syaoran found himself between cars, the howling of the winds and rattling of the tracks beneath him.  Jolting up and down, the clanging of the safety chains, the momentum of barreling down the lines and slowing approaching a hill.  Leaning against the linking chain, he gratefully took a quick rest, againt the rules as it was to ride between cars.  He gulped a deep breath, prying open the next car's door, stepping through into a tangle of limbs and newspapers.  Sighing, he began to weave his way forward up to the next car, an achingly slow plod.

Dark, lights flying by, the cavernous snarl of echoes.  Syaoran gripped the chains tight, the train taking a sharp right curve, the tunnel around him lit for a moment, a splash of concrete before roaring back into murky uncertainty.  The speed slackened, brakes screeching shatteringly, the bucking of the metal carcass.  Syaoran hurried into the last car or rather the first.  People, gray faced and unfeeling, standing, sitting, sleeping and reading, all filled to the brim, packed so close that one breath might burst the bolts on the car.  Angrily, anxiously, with a heart that seemed to pound relentlessly in his head, the rush of blood like a vicious river in his ears, Syaoran squeezed his eyes shut.  He couldn't speak, jaw locked together, his mind screaming out curses, pleas, incoherent sounds.  And from that chaos rose one thought above all others, rising and exploding.  'I wish everyone would just disappear!'  The train lurched suddenly to a stop, the brakes wailing with their insane shrieks, the jerking thrusts of the train throwing him hard against the door.  The lights snuffed themselves out like candles. 

Syaoran turned in the dark, complete stop, silence.  A dim work lamp glowed down the tunnel, its rays too faint to do more than alert Syaoran of its presence.  Flickering like arrhythmia, the florescent bars overhead lit up, descending illuminating needles pricking empty seats, empty floors.  Everyone was gone, the eeriness of sudden solitude loud.  Syaoran looked around disbelievingly, each seat wiped of any evidence of ever being used, the gums and sticky stains gone, floors polished of their scuff marks, the Plexiglas windows buffed of its scratches and gouges.

He spun in a full circle.  There were only the lights overhead and the emptiness around him.  Looking down the aisle, through the doors, through the next car, another door, another car, another door into the endless miles of train.  He tested a foot, scuffling along the floor with an impossibly loud grating sound. Cringing he walked faster, each scrape running into the next, a continuous white static.  Syaoran felt a ridiculous B rate horror movie atmosphere around him, the mix of the rough brushstrokes his feet made, the seeming emptiness around him, everything too angular and sharp under the fluorescent gaze.  But nothing leapt out at him.  

He was midway through the train when his patience failed, his strides too unnerving, the horrible extremes of dissonance to silence without the small gradations between them that prepared one beforehand.  He broke in a fierce run, the regular thumps of his feet actually intelligible over the static side effect of movement.  Rows and rows of plastic seats, stainless steel rails, yards and yards of tile flooring.  Panting he reached forward, yanking the partitioning doors open, another carriage.  The increasing rapidity of his breath fell into pattern with his legs, black square windows flying by like stripes, seats dancing, the eclectic pattern of the floor approaching being left behind.  

He stopped short, nearly falling over in his residual momentum, sudden silence again thick like smoke.  The blackness of the tunnel stretched away from him though the last door's window.  There was no guide light, no sight of the tunnel walls, no twin rails.  Sweat dripped along the side of his face, dampness seeping into the cuffs of his shirt.  He looked down at himself, the first notice of his clothes.  The rough fabric of his white lab coat rubbed against the backside of his palm, his striped tie that pointed like an arrow, the bottom half of a stethoscope dangling freely from his jacket's left oversized pocket.  

His watch dial suddenly glowed green on a bed of black.  Syaoran looked up, the lights again dead without warning.  The wall signs fluoresced neon green.  'Pull cord if there is an emergency.'  'Do not run on the platform.'  'In case of fire push button for assistance.'  It was a ridiculous notion but this _was_ an emergency.  Syaoran pulled the cord, a thin chiming somewhere behind him.  He whirled around at the sound of a door opening.  "Sakura?"

Sakura blinked, clad in the conductor's uniform, cap hastily jammed on her head.  "Yes, sir.  Is there a problem?"

Syaoran opened his mouth, but sucked in a breath.  He loosened his tie, shrugging off his coat.  The temperature was rising, quickly, uncomfortably.  The heat grew like afternoon shadows, intensifying with time.  "The heat."

Sakura nodded.  "Could be a fire."  She reached over to her right and neatly pressed the fire button.

Syaoran felt his body sag, the energy to stand too expensive.  The artificial smell of cherries wafted around his nose before he slumped to the floor.

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Syaoran rolled over, a bout of coughing overtaking him.  He opened his eyes, the last moments of his dream replaying like an aerial movie.  Clearing his throat a last time, he looked to his clock, a minute to spare.

A splash of icy water jolted his nerves, the caress of the cold inviting and invigorating.  He sighed heavily, leaning on the counter on his elbows.  Without reprieve, the dreams came almost every night, each so vastly different.  Some happy, some sad, some frightening.  And yet none of them made any semblance of sense.  Syaoran snorted at his own thought.  Of course they wouldn't make sense; they were dreams.  Sakura was always in them, always playing some part, but why?  Shaking himself thoroughly, he brushed away the thoughts, taking up his keys and heading toward the train station.

He couldn't shake the feeling that everyone would disappear and that the train would screech to a sudden half, landing him in the endless void of his dream's tunnel.  But nothing happened and he alighted at his stop, taking the stairs down two at a time.  The best thing, he decided, was to just try and forget, the same strategy that he struggled to employ the past month.  He pushed through the hospital doors, mind purposefully blank.

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Syaoran grimaced with the distaste of his vending machine sandwich.  "You know it's sad when vending machine food is better than the cafeteria's."

Tomoyo nodded, scooping a spoonful of Jello out of its plastic container.  "Yeah."  She swallowed, folding her hands on her napkin, watching Syaoran avoid eye contact with her.   "Well?"

"Well?"

"You said you wanted to ask me some questions…"

"I do."  He sighed, putting down the triangular half of his sandwich.  "How do you know if you're going insane?"

 Tomoyo fixed an inquiring gaze on Syaoran's face, semi-smile twisting her mouth.  "Finally went off the deep end have you?  Too bad I bet on last month."

Syaoran sighed, returning a half-glare.  "It's not a joke.  I'm having dreams, strange dreams."

"Really?  Strange dreams?  Then there's no time to waste; we must have you fitted for a straight jacket right away."

He fixed a full glare this time, propping his head up with his left hand, elbow deep into the ham sandwich.  "These aren't normal dreams.  They're not exactly reoccurring, but they always have the same person in them.  And the scary thing is I don't know her, I mean, know her really."

Tomoyo's mouth went flat, face masked by her professional sympathy.  "Hmm…interesting.  Is she a friend?"

"No; she's a patient, not even mine.  It's the last victim of that crazy serial killer they play on the news, the 'beach murderer' or whatever they like to call him."

"Her?  The one that's still alive?  In the coma?"

"Yeah.  It's crazy, but it's always her in the dream, doing something, playing a part.  And I have no clue what it all means."

Tomoyo pulled out a pad from her coat pocket, a pencil materializing from the depths of her hair.  "You know I'm supposed to be psychological consult for patients not doctors.  But I guess I'll make an exception this time.  When's the last time you had this kind of dream."

"This morning.  The last time before today was two or three days ago.  It's been going on for the past month."

"I see.  What was this morning's dream about?"

Syaoran furrowed his brows in the effort to remember the dream exactly, finally making his way through the narrative after a few false starts.  "I was in this congested train, shoving people out of my way.  It was hot and stuffy and I felt like I was going to die.  It was so hard to breathe and they were all so close.  I just wished they'd all disappear, and they did, in a blink of an eye.  Then the whole train was empty and I started to search for people.  And every time I moved, it was so loud like something grating.  Um, like if you magnified the sound of a hairbrush being pulled through tangled hair?  Then I was in the last car and the lights went off again and I pulled the emergency cord and she came out, dressed like the conductor."

Tomoyo scribbled a quick word into her pad.  "Kinomoto?"

"Yes, there she was and everything around me got hot like fire and she pushed the intercom button on the wall, but it was already too stifling.  I must've passed out and then I woke up."

"Anything else?  What's the last thing you remember?"

"Uh…cherries?  I smelled something like cherries."

Pencil scratching across paper.  "Have you had this dream before?  In a train?"

"I don't think so.  They're all different.  What does it mean?"

Tomoyo looked up from notes, puzzled frown set on her features.  "Frankly, I don't think they mean anything.  From a psychological standpoint, we only start to attribute desires and meanings to dreams when they're reoccurring, but you said yours aren't, except for this girl.  But I'm sure they're not anything to be worried about."

"Great.  And I thought all psychiatrists gave at least some useful advice."  Syaoran straightened, a large dent appearing on his sandwich.

"Hey, we counsel people with real problems.  You' re probably dealing with too much stress lately.  Take a vacation, get plastered, do something relaxing."  A quick look at her wristwatch.  "Crap, I'm late."  A small wave and Tomoyo was weaving herself around the cafeteria tables.

_________________________________________________

Syaoran held back a yawn with the ease of years of practice.  The night shifts were always a time of boredom, stalking the empty halls, rechecking patient files, signing off procedural forms.  He leaned a little more forward over the counter of the nurses' station, his ballpoint pen scratching out prescriptions and comments.  'Warfarin, 10 mg daily.  Ultrasound for coronary clotting.'  He closed his eyes, the sweet sickly scent of cherries passing over him for a moment, but disappeared as suddenly as it came.  He sighed and let his feet take him down the hall, turning the corner into the other wing.  

He stopped at the door, twisting the handle slowly despite the knowledge that no one inside would really hear anything.  The room was large, cavernous to anyone that lived in a city apartment, curtains crisscrossing the room in makeshift walls, even if no one could make any complaints over lack of privacy.  He picked up the nearest chart, skimming the information.  No change.  Slowly his eyes rose off the metal clipboard to the prostrate figure on his right, the carelessly drawn striped curtain shielding the upper half of the patient beyond from view.  

There was Sakura, asleep, unknowing of what passed around her.  Around her were the remnants of visits.  The chair pulled near the bed, the fresh flowers, the small pile of cards on the bedside table, her right hand open and extended.   He took the empty seat, watching with empty emotions, denied curiosity and wonder.  It was strange for her to be looking so alive in his dreams yet be so faded in real life.  He wondered if she knew what was wrong with him, if that miraculous answer were trapped in her sealed mouth.  With a nervous glance, he slowly took her offered hand, closing his fingers over the numb warmth.  No movement.  "What's going on, Sakura?" he whispered.  The only answer was the steady jumps of the muted heart monitor, peaks rising and falling, just like her chest.

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Author's Notes:  Whew, done.  Does anyone know what that cherry smell is?


	4. Labyrinth

Author's Notes:  In a bout of inspiration/boredom, I seemed to have finished this chapter early.  Huzzah.  Reviews would be much appreciated.

Thanks to **Wings of Fire** (what do you think is the cherry smell? I'm very interested to know.), **mya** (no, the smell doesn't have to do with Sakura), **Rhea**, **Lakshmi** (not cough syrup), **Danielle Anderson** (hey, Ophie, I'm still working on possible plotlines), **Riley** **S** (oh, B rated movie's like 'Texas Chainsaw Massacre'.  Generally not good movie)

Disclaimer:  CCS is not mine, no matter how much voodoo I do.

Dark Fantasy 

Chapter 4:  Labyrinth

A bird chirped overhead, gliding low enough to skim the top of the tall hedges.  Syaoran looked around him overwhelmed by the taste of freshly mowed grass.  The shrubby walls climbed high over his head, jutting out at right angles.  He was certain that he was in the center of a maze, many leafy paths fanning out from his position.  A central stone fountain gurgled in the midmorning sunshine, the watery cherub clasping its coronet in chubby fingers.  He sat down on a bench, staring at nothing in particular, just listening to the fountain churn and bubble.  The sky was overcast, and a blue haze pooled on the ground, foggy like dewy breath.  His feet disappeared in the gaseous soup.  There was a brisk wind whipping around the grounds, rustling the leaves in an erratic rhythm of scraping and whistling.  His clothes stuck to him with collected moisture, wrapping an uncomfortable hold over his limbs.

Time passed and he sat in thought, steady as a statue, letting the ambient wetness seep into him.  He shivered occasionally but remained in his hunched position.  Just waiting, for something to happen, anything. It was an interesting thought that he could retain his consciousness in a dream, something that seemed illogical where dreams were supposed to be ruled by the subconscious desires you repressed every day.  And yet, here he was, mentally ticking off the various errands that he needed to do, the many patients to check up on, curiosity and apprehension at what would soon happen.

But nothing happened; a misty rain fell in sporadic bursts, sticking his clothes further into a soppy mess.  The sky twisted gray and blue strands together as the cloud cover shifted, but the blue veil stayed firmly planted over the grounds.  He strained all his nerves to remain calm, to suppress the need to scream out the boredom.  When he resumed observing, he noted a ticking sound.  He looked down at his watch which had started to tick loudly, in an erratic half tick-full tick-back tick random rhythm.  Tick, tick, ticktick ti-ck, tick, tickticktick, ti-ckti-ck.  Calmly, deceptively so, he unfastened the offending timepiece and dropped it onto the stone of the empty bench seat next to him.  He stood up on the seat and slammed down a foot onto the watch.

The crash gave a satisfying crunch of split glass and warped metal.  The ticking stopped gradually, tapering off with labored breaths.  Syaoran smirked down at the broken watch and lifted his head up to survey any changes that may have happened.  He swept his gaze around him and landed abruptly on Sakura's face.

She had her head rested in her hands on top of one of the maze hedges.  She smiled unnervingly, sweet but forlorn at the same time.  "You broke your watch."

Syaoran was impassive, looking down at the smattering of glass shards and gears and coils.  "So I did."  He lifted his head to face Sakura again, keeping his voice rational and even.  "What am I doing here?"

She shrugged then hooked a thumb to her right.  "Come find me."  Her finger pointed at one of the many paths that lead into the depths of the maze.

Syaoran shook his head.  "No, tell me why I'm here."

"I'll tell you if you find me,."  She lifted her head and dropped out of sight.

Syaoran heaved a deep sigh and shook his head.  She might just know something.  He took off toward the indicated path.  The maze was high, probably nearly ten feet, the shrubbery dense and lush.  The grass grew thick and tall, sweeping across ankles.  Every corner held a topiary animal, a creation of flesh from leaves.  Lions, dogs, cats, elephants, he passed them all.  There was a rustle behind him and he jerked around to find Sakura standing underneath the paw of a tree lion.  She approached him with an easy gait.  "You found me."

Syaoran nodded.  "And now you'll tell me why I'm here?"

Sakura shrugged.  "Don't know, haven't a clue who you are.  But I've seen you before."

"In dreams right?"

"Maybe."  Sakura walked past Syaoran and took a right, skimming the shrubs with her right hand.  "You were in the train…"

Syaoran caught up and fell into pace with her.  "Yes, and the lake before and all those other places too."

"Yeah."  Sakura kept her eyes on the ground, taking rights and lefts without looking up.  "Are you here to save me?"

"I don't understand.  Save you from what?"

Sakura gave a noncommittal tilt of her head.  "From whatever's trying to harm me."

"But what _is_ trying to harm you?"

"Don't know.  Confusing isn't it?"  She looked up at Syaoran and smiled brightly.

Syaoran fumbled a smile back.  "Yeah, it's confusing as hell."

They fell into a silence, Syaoran following Sakura as she turned and led him through the maze.  Every turn led into more alleys and twists and shrub animals.  Eventually Syaoran felt his muscles start to tire and broke the silence.  "Where are you taking us?"

"Somewhere I guess.  Looks like rain."  The sky had attained a darker shade of black than before, defined puffs of ash clouds handing overhead.  Thick drops of water started to fall, at first in a hesitant shower that quickly progressing into a downpour.  Sakura stretched out her arms watching the big fat drops crash and shatter against her palm.  

Syaoran shifted his torso uncomfortably as he removed his coat.  "Want my coat?"

Sakura shook her head and bent down to yank off her shoes.  "I like the rain."  She ran down the alley and back.  "The grass feels funny."

Syaoran tented his coat above his head and winced at the coldness of the water as it seeped into his bones.  "We should find shelter or something."  The doctor in him stirred.  "We could catch pneumonia."

Sakura wiped a waterlogged lock out of her eye and smoothed her shoulder length hair back into a curtain.  "I don't see a five star hotel anywhere around here.  How about that horse?"

Syaoran nodded and both of them found themselves underneath the horse, sitting on the edge of the granite stand.  The rain was still falling like sheets, sweeping the grass flat.  Syaoran went to grab onto the horse's trunk leg for support, but found his hand going through the wooden appendage.  The rain stopped abruptly after five minutes, leaving the maze flooded and the sky slightly whiter.  Syaoran turned his attention back to the leg, the wood looking sturdy and real as anything he'd ever seen in his life.  

Sakura had ducked out from under the horse and was picking up her sodden shoes.  She called from a bit off.  "What's wrong?"

Syaoran didn't hear her question, engrossed in studying the shrub.  What seemed like leaves form afar distorted themselves upon closer inspection, nothing more than expert smudges of colour, an uncanny simulation of real life from various shades of green.  The wood that had seemed so real was only a mixture of two different hues, a brown for wood, a black for shading, lacking in all those spots and texture that make up real wood.  He reached out to touch the leaves but snatched away his head at Sakura's shout.

Sakura had one shoe on, the other dangling in her hand.  "Syaoran!  We've got a problem."  She stepped backward and to the side, revealing a large tiger shrub poised in front of her.  It moved predatorily, snatching brief lapses in focus from its prey to inch closer.  Water dripped in simulation for saliva from its open mouth, exposed granite teeth looking sharp and dangerous.

Syaoran jerked forward as the tiger leapt for Sakura.  He barely found her fingers and pulled her away before the large animal landed with a loud rustle of its leaves.  It circled again slowly, eying both Syaoran and Sakura with an animal ferocity.  Sakura pulled Syaoran insistently as they began to run through the maze.  The tiger bounded after them, easily outpacing them and effortlessly closing the gap.  

Sakura turned the corner quickly.  Syaoran twisted his head around to find that the tiger was within striking distance.  Overlooking a clump of knotted grass, he tripped and fell backward, watching in intensifying horror as the animal gave a mute roar and leapt up into the air.  The green and brown monster blocked out the sight of the overcast sky as it dived down at Syaoran.  He closed his eyes, bringing his hands to his face in a futile act of protection.  There was a whoosh of air and the tinkling sound of shattered glass.  He opened an eye to see the thick cloud cover overhead; the tiger had disappeared.  He gingerly tested his limbs and began to get up.  A layer of broken green and brown glass and stone fragments littered his clothes, raining away as he lifted himself off the ground.

He twisted his body around looking for Sakura.  She wasn't anywhere to be seen.  He quickly turned the corner and stopped short.  He was back in the center of the maze, the fountain still gurgling and the stone bench wet and dark with rain.  Sakura was sitting composed on the moulded edge of the fountain, a hand skimming the water.  She turned her head to look Syaoran in the eye; her face had a sense of finality.  She gave a quiet introspective half smile and closed her eyes.

The ground shook with the force of something heavy running, pounding against the soil with a terrible intensity.  Syaoran turned his attention to find a shrub animal bounding for Sakura's form.  He began to run towards her too, pushing himself to go faster, but knew he was no match for the green and brown wolf that raced him.  Thorns substituted teeth as the giant creature made a final leap.  Syaoran watched as it slammed into Sakura, frozen in the moment of collision, it's thorned mouth clamped around her left shoulder.  An awkward moan like that of cracking snowy ice echoed in the air, followed by multiple roars.  The two figures exploded into a storm of glass fragments and coloured panes, all gusting and whirling around.  Syaoran closed his eyes, feeling the wind and debris swirling around him.

He finally opened his eyes when silence had regained control over the square.  He was alone, standing on the stone bench.  There was a ticking sound.  Tick, tick, ti-ck, tickticktick, ti-ck, tick, ti-cktickti-ck.  He glared at his wrist, the watch's ticking growing louder.  Undoing the strap quickly, he dropped it against the bench once again and lifted his foot.  He dropped his foot again, breaking the watch, only this time, there was the sound of sucking air around him before a dizzy darkness swooped in and pulled him into oblivion.

_______________________________________________

Syaoran snapped his eyes open, breathing in heavy breaths.  He turned over to look at his nightstand; the familiar red numbers had disappeared.  With a bout of apprehension, he flung off the covers and ran out of his bedroom, bursting into the various rooms of his apartment before finally dropping exhausted onto the couch.  He was really worried now.  All the clocks in his apartment had stopped; his wristwatch was shattered on the kitchen table.

______________________________________________

Author's Notes:  If you're confused right now, good.  I'll try to work more information in the coming chapters, but I'm telling you straight off that I'm working this fic like one of those events that are never really explained.  Something impossible happens and you don't know why and will never know why.  But…I'll help try to get some of the action with the killer in.


	5. In The Noodle House

Author's Notes:  I must be on a roll.  I'm actually on schedule.  Um, nothing more to say except 'Review please.'

Thanks to **Miya**, **mya** (hmm, might look up the book), **starquestor**, **Rhea** (cough, agreement, cough), **Riley S** (I like the sleepwalk idea…), **Final Fantasy Princess**, **Emi-chan** (hehe, I'm trying to get somewhere, just will take a few more chapters)

Dark Fantasy 

Chapter 5:  In the Noodle House

Tomoyo frowned, taking the tip of her pencil off the ledger pad.  "And they were…animals?"

Syaoran sighed, sinking further into the padded comfort of an overstuffed armchair.  "They were trees that turned into animals."

"Flesh and blood?"

"No, still leaves and branches."  Syaoran rethought his last sentence, drowsily replaying the dream in his head.  "Actually, like paintings.  Like brushstrokes that were meant to look like leaves."

"I see…"  The pencil descended on the paper once again, scribbling furiously.  "And that's when you caught up with her again?"

"She was leaning on the fountain.  Then she was attacked by the wolf and broke into millions of pieces and then I was dropping the watch onto the bench and stomping on it."

Tomoyo shifted in her seat, casting and inspective eye over Syaoran's disturbed form.  The haunted look, the furrows between his eyebrows, the clenching and unclenching hands.  "And then…"  She let her hand gestures take the place of the rest of her sentence.

Syaoran nodded.  "That's when I woke up and all the clocks were broken."

"And your watch…"

"Smashed."  Syaoran held up his wrist to show off the spider web cracks on the glass cover.  "Right on the kitchen table."

Tomoyo gave a 'hmm' before circling something on her paper.  "I'm sure there's a logical explanation for this…"

Syaoran scowled hard, crossing his arms over his chest.  "For the past three days, I've thought of every possibility.  This is just utterly unexplainable."

'I'm just saying…"

"What?  That I was sleepwalking?  That some guy broke into my apartment and decided to play a prank?  That maybe aliens decided to have some fun at my expense?"

Tomoyo rolled her eyes, forcing down the barest hint of a smile lest she enrage him more.  "Well, the sleepwalking thing isn't completely impossible…"

"Yes it is.  I'm telling you something did this, and I have no fucking clue what."

Tomoyo ripped the paper off her pad, folding it into fourths.  She leaned over her desk, handing it to Syaoran.  "Here; I've circled what I want you to take."

"A prescription?  You thinks pills will solve this?!"  He unfolded the paper and looked over the various scribbled details of his dream.  The bottom word was circled a few times and underlined.  His face seemed to freeze in a distorted expression of surprise and annoyance.  "Vacation?"

Tomoyo fought unsuccessfully to stifle the laugh in her throat.  She beamed at Syaoran.  "Two weeks.  I'm telling you it's just stress."

Syaoran couldn't find the humour.  This was something that was seriously dangerous.  The distraction, the building dread and fear that raised the hairs on the back of his neck every other second.  The night sweats and the broken clocks.  And here she was joking.  He angrily crumpled up the paper and tossed it on the floor.  "I've got patients…"

Tomoyo lost her smile, opting to fade back into the professional stoic stare that she had mastered in medical school.  "It's still a very good suggestion, Syaoran."

Syaoran shrugged, yanking open the door.  "Yeah.  Thanks anyway, I'll deal with this myself."  He shut the door loudly behind him.

_________________________________________

Syaoran yawned widely.  He glared at his coffee mug murderously, flipping over the first page of a patient chart.  It was his third cup and he felt more tired than ever; maybe some idiot put decaf in the machine.  The soft yellow glow of the desk lamp seemed to bleed in his vision, overtaken by the accompanying tears of another yawn.  He threw down the chart in frustration, the words becoming too blurred and foreign to understand anymore.  Almost with lead feet, he plodded over to the stale couch and slumped into the old foam.

The musty smell was distinctly bad, but he couldn't fight off the exhaustion that swept over him, letting it pull his eyelids shut, dropping his senses into the red-gray haze that come before sleep.

_______________________________________________

Sakura smiled up at Syaoran, snatching his arm and pulling him through the door.  "Isn't this cozy?"

Syaoran stood bewildered in the little shop, taking in the plastic countertops, the little stools and small plastic seats.  The air smelled deliciously of soup and dumplings and fresh buns.  He fumbled with his words, gathering himself together.  "Y-yeah, it's nice."

Sakura led them to a small table against the wall.  She unwrapped herself form her scarf and took off her coat and gloves.  "Isn't it nice and warm?"

Syaoran nodded, removing his garments too, taking a quick look over Sakura's shoulder out the glass storefront.  Fogged window corners, a light dusting of snow over parked cars, people walking by puffed up by layers of down and wool.  "It's winter…"

Sakura gave him a strange look before taking up a menu from the rack.  "Of course it is."

Syaoran shook himself from his thoughts and turned his attention back to Sakura.  "You realize this is a dream right?"

She nodded absently, glancing up and down the beverage list.  "It always is.  The seafood special looks good."

"This isn't real; we're here in this noodle shop and it's just all some figment of my imagination."

Sakura put down her menu, sighing.  "It's as real as anything else.  And if we're here, why can't we enjoy it?  Now, go pick out what you want."

Syaoran shook his head resignedly and took up the laminated sheet and started to weigh out the choices.  "The dumplings look good…"  He tried to focus on the background noises, the shuffle of metal utensils clinking against the bottom of pans, the quiet sizzle of potstickers, the sensual twisting aromas of scallions and ginger.  It all was so real.

A shadow formed over Syaoran's menu forcing him to look up at the slightly flustered face of the waiter.  "Are you read to order?"

Sakura nodded, replacing the menu on its rack.  "I'll have the seafood special."

Syaoran followed Sakura's example.  "Wonton soup."

Nodding the waiter took off at a furious pace, ripping the paper and slapping it onto the counter before scurrying back to the other side of the little shop and picking up empty bowls and chopsticks.

Syaoran broke the silence first.  "What's going on?"

Sakura looked confused.  "We're having dinner…"

"No; I mean with all of these dreams.  I close my eyes and find myself in them."

Sakura shrugged.  "Beats me."  She cringed her nose in distaste.  "Let's talk about something else."

Syaoran gave Sakura an appraising look.  She seemed normal, attractive with her pink cheeks and soft, kind face.  And yet, there was something wrong there, like she wasn't a person.  She lacked that spark, that consciousness that truly made others…right.  She spoke fine, she moved fine and still she wasn't quiet right, like a puppet.  He shook himself and scowled inwardly.  He was thinking about her like a real person when all she was part of his subconscious, created by his own mind and without the substance of reality.  "So what kind of family do you have?"  He listed to her talk about her overprotective brother and father who was a professor who worked at the university.  Almost grudgingly, he had to congratulate his imagination; she seemed more real by the second.

Sakura finished almost abruptly, flushing a deep red.  "And here I am going on about my childhood and you're probably bored out of your mind."

Syaoran smiled and shook his head.  "No, it's interesting to hear about it."  The shadow of the waiter appeared again, the blur of the man depositing two large bowls on the small table and streaking away to give out checks and take orders.  Syaoran stared into the depths of his bowl, making out the small round wontons and their almost translucent wrapping swimming and floating over the golden green onion littered broth.  He experimentally dipped in a spoon and sipped cautiously at the hot liquid.  The taste was soft, without the pretense of expensive and exotic herbs.  He smiled at the soup, a homey kind of food that worked perfectly to provide a hot filling delicious meal on a frosty night.  "This is good…"

Sakura slurped the end of a thick noodle up.  "Yeah, it's nice, just right."  She greedily stuffed a shrimp into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

_______________________________________________

Syaoran noticed the wall clock and was faintly surprised that an hour had passed so quickly.  He picked at the sweet bun on his plate and laughed.  Sakura was talking about college and her job; she was currently complaining about a failed attempt at getting a raise.  "I can't believe you forgot about the printers."

Sakura dropped her head onto her right hand, her exposed cheek stained a deep red.  "Don't remind me!  They couldn't get the quarterly reports up to the board meeting.  The meeting got delayed until the next day."

"So what happened?"

"So they put me on answering phones for a week and threatened to fire me if I ever took the initiative again."  She laughed a little breathlessly.  "I still haven't got up the nerve again to ask for a raise."

Syaoran bit into the bun, savouring the sweet honey taste.  "At least you can get a raise.  The hospital doesn't even like you asking for vacation days."

Sakura sipped at her tea.  "But you get to save people's lives.  That's so much more than being some assistant at a huge corporation.  You must feel lucky."

"Lucky?  It's hard work and most of the time the patients treat you like dirt."  Syaoran softened.  "But…I guess there're those time when you feel really proud of what you do."

Sakura smiled and nodded, entranced.  "Sound wonderful."

Syaoran blinked and squinted.  Sakura's form was getting darker and harder to focus on.

__________________________________________________

Syaoran barely lifted an eyelid, feeling the crushing weight of some strange influence pressing his lids back downward.  In the small gap of his open eyes, he made out a bleary silhouette standing over him and shaking him.  He wrenched open his mouth to speak but found he lacked the energy to control the breath in his lungs, much less form words from them.

The nurse shook harder.  "Doctor Li."

The effort was too much and he surrendered his eyelids back to their shut state.  The dark swam and there was suddenly light again, the same soft orange-yellow glow of the noodle shop.

______________________________________________

Sakura's smile went crisp again.  "When you said you were going to go to the bathroom, I never thought it'd take twenty minutes.  Did you fall in?"

Syaoran furrowed his brows.  "Bathroom?  What?"

But Sakura's attention wasn't on him anymore, instead focusing in her empty noodle bowl.  "This is interesting.  Look."

Syaoran felt a fuzziness in his head as he craned his neck and looked into the bowl.  There was the murky dregs of her soup.  He blinked and the bowl had suddenly filled up.

Everything seemed to spin incredibly fast as Syaoran stared transfixed at the bowl.  Bugs, insects, all sorts of small biting monsters.  And there seemed to be something wrong with his eyes, magnifying and distorting them, projecting them.  Large hairy legs, sleek twitching antennae, wings that looked sickly brittle, the movement of a disgusting tangle of limbs and bellies and bodies.  They were filling up the bowl, overflowing and sweeping across the table top with the endless pinching of their jaws, the hypnotically nauseous motion of writing maggots, their white, blue veined bodies wiggling about and contorting, the metallic green sheen of millions of honeycombed facets on eyes.  The rising queasiness rose high up him, entranced and sickened by the rampant legs, and dancing bodies and the dry crackling exoskeleton that looked deceptively wet and sticky. 

 The room was worse, the dimensions all awry, some corners jutting out like oversized cornices and others shrinking into a cornerless spherical dead end.  And the claustrophobia smothered the air around him with a choking sucking sound.  Smaller and tighter and still held in the malicious grip of the thousands of insects running across the tabletop, on the lap, scampering with unnaturally light and tickling steps under his shirt, up his arms, circling his neck.

Sakura was watching him with a curious gaze, rolling up her sleeves.  She plunged her hands into the overflowing bowl, reaching down up to her elbows into depths that were impossible for a bowl.  She made a flinching gesture and pulled out her hands, bumps and red blotches scattered over her pale skin.

But Syaoran couldn't pay attention to her.  The air around him had disappeared and everything rose to a peak, the twisting room, the oppression, the feeling of suffocation.  The bugs were crawling against his skin, paralyzing him with their light flittering touches.  Around his throat, coating his chest, invading his mouth and marching with their furry limbs and gnashing pinchers into his throat, down into his insides, tickling and biting and swimming, underneath his skin, circling his ear, between each of his fingers.  And then the blackness swam over him, the kind of frightening infinity of millions of black skinned insects skittering across his open eyes.

___________________________________________

Syaoran jerked up into a sitting position, a fierce scream lodged in this throat.  His hands involuntarily scoured across his arms and neck, nails scraping over his skin, leaving trails of red as he sought to rid himself of the phantom bugs.  His breath came out in loud rasping heaves, sucking in the air with a vicious strength.  The sweat poured over his forehead and his body shook violently, uncontrollably.

The nurse next to him patted him on the back reassuringly.  "Doctor?"

Syaoran vaguely noticed Terada at his side, the older man's fingers over the rapidly throbbing pulse in his wrist.  "T-Terada?"

Terada looked away from his watch.  "What happened?"

"Just a…bad dream."

"Not just a bad dream.  We were trying to wake you up for half an hour."

"Half?"  Syaoran tried to close his eyes and swallow but the teeming mass of iridescent wings and black backs behind his eyes kept twisting the nausea inside him.

Terada nodded and sighed.  "I'm sorry to have to do this Syaoran, but I'm ordering you take a vacation."

Syaoran looked up confused at the older man, head still thick with the warped noodle house walls.  "Vacation?"

"You've been so erratic these past few weeks.  We can't have you endangering patients.  I hate to pull my boss card, but I'm the chief of staff and I have to look out for the hospital."  His stern voice softened.  "Besides, you look like you really need a break."

Syaoran nodded dumbly, finally able to swallow and slowly feeling his twitching muscles coming back under his control.

________________________________________

Syaoran leaned heavily against the wall outside the ward, coat dangling in a loose grip.  It had taken nearly an hour to get himself under control, to stop the shaking and the involuntary turning motion his stomach kept making.  And now he was gathering his nerve to enter the room.

The room was nearly the same as the last time.  The striped curtain wasn't drawn today, leaving Sakura open to public view.  She was still lying in the same position, hand open and stretched out.  The night nurse was recording the machine readouts.  She looked up at Syaoran and smiled.  "Saying good night to a patient?"

Syaoran nodded.  "Something like that."

The nurse turned to go, but stopped short.  "Oh, doctor?  Can you look at her arms?  I think she might have bedsores."

Syaoran frowned and stepped closer, leaning over the nurse's back.  Sakura's arms were red and littered with swollen bumps.   His face darkened considerably, sucking in a half breath.  They weren't bedsores; they were insect bites.

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Author's Notes:  Hey not bad, a longer chapter.  I promise to get to the killer in the next chapter.  


	6. Pockets Full Of Posey

Author's Notes:  I'm really, really sorry for the late posting, but this whole month's been really busy and confusing and yeah… Just wanted to apologize.  

Arigatos to **CherrySakuraGirl** (hehe, I might explain the cherry smell in the last chapter), **Riley S** (thanks!), **Miko@--Elley**, **Miko** (maybe, it's a good idea though), **starquestor**, **mya** (sorry, but I thought I bugs was a nice image),  **Meruru-chan** (wow, that's quite possibly the nicest comment I've got in a while), **nightshadow**, **Miya**, **Rhea** (all those questions…maybe I won't answer them =P), **Aurora**, **Opehlia Winters** (hehe, thanks for reviewing), **Ti'ana** (yes, that's what I'm going for.  Is she really there or not?  Hmm…), **bishounen lovah**.

Disclaimer:  Now if CCS was mine, it'd still be on TV wouldn't it.  But since it's not, it's safe to conclude that I have no share in its ownership. 

Dark Fantasy 

Chapter 6:  Pockets Full of Posey

Syaoran watched the TV channels flick by with a yawn in his throat.  He'd been like this for the past week, sunk into the couch and watching TV.  No job, no patients, nothing to do but dream and wake up in cold sweats.  The mix of late night talk shows and nightmares wasn't appealing to him, slowly driving him up the wall with each passing day.  His apartment was a mess, clothes strewn about, dishes piled high in the sink, his regular semblance of organization abandoned days ago.

All there was now were those flashing images that ran through his head like an album of photos flipping by without stop.  There one second, gone the next with only the barest of impression of what was there to begin with.  And she was always there, half amused, half enigmatic, with her monosyllabic answers and her detached air.  She wasn't real but she felt like she was, somewhat.  Syaoran rubbed his darkened eyes, searching for the distracting pain of a million phantom colours bursting into life behind his eyelids, anything to stop her face from haunting his every thought.

She wanted something, he was sure of it.  These were no longer coincidental reoccurring dreams.  Tomoyo could say all she wanted about subconscious manifestations of hidden fears and desires, half garbled by her MD in psychiatry and professional pedagogy, but Syaoran knew better.  This meant something, something that really had nothing to do with him, a chance connection somehow.  And now Sakura Kinomoto was in his dreams, standing there, sitting there, talking, laughing but always wanting…something.

Syaoran pulled his eyes open again to stare at the informercial.  The late night broadcasts did nothing to prevent him from falling into the trap of sleep.  He reached blindly for the coffee mug somewhere in front of him, but his limbs had become leaden and refused to move.  He let out a weary groan, laying back on the couch and keeping a thin sliver of attention at the screen through half lidded eyes.  The pull was getting worse, and denying it would only hasten the precipitous end.  There seemed the inexplicable snap of electricity as he sank away from the world of reality, but then again, it may have just been the beginning of a dream.

_________________________________________

The world unfolded before him, a gentle sloping hill into the meadows and dips of the natural countryside.  The blue, cloudless sky moved with him as he swung, up and down, the dandelion fields below bobbing with his motion.  The wind blew briskly around him, whistling and swirling about the gentle slope of the mound.  Syaoran looked down the hill, rolling into a green that seemed to stretch on for eternity.  Square plots of wheat rolled in the wind like a liquid sea of grain.

And he kept swinging, the strange faraway nostalgia of the rocking motion, lurching, his stomach pressing back into his spine, then reeling forward as the whole world dipped and reeled with him.  All the while, the short squeaks and creaks of the rusted iron chains developing a rhythm around him.  It was intoxicating, the simple childish act, the explosion as he went up, the heart pounding drop.

Higher and higher until almost horizontal in the air, the world sideways slanted around him, the fields going vertical, the blue sky like a vast column stretching on forever.  It was then that he noticed something in his vision, a little innocuous house uprooted and put on its side, slowly returning right side up as he fell.  He hastily ground his heels into the soft earth, scraping a few times until the swing had stopped.

The house had an old fashioned feel to it, the kind of green wooden slats, off-white broken picket fence, nearly disassembled tractor.  The more he looked at it, the flatter it got, a sepia tone sliding and colouring his vision until suddenly he seemed to be confronted by only a photograph of what used to be a three dimensional house.  He could even barely make out the slight gloss on the paper.

Syaoran turned around puzzled, bringing his gaze in a full circle.  The collage was everywhere, bits and pieces of gold tinted photographs all stuck together and overlaying each other.  The proportions skewed and glued together haphazardly, things magnified, others shrunk.  And with a blink, it all disappeared, leaving Syoaran to look again at the blue sky, the faraway farmhouse, the gentle rolling fallow fields of weed grasses, swaying.  "What's going on?"

"What's not?"

Syaoran twisted back to face the swing, Sakura swinging lightly in his vacated seat.  Her loose dress fluttered around her knees, hair pulled into a ponytail, but still flying everywhere in the wind.  She had her eyes turned upward, watching the sky.  "You're here as usual…"

She turned her attention to Syaoran, smiling a quirk of the lips.  "And you sound very enthused about it…"

"Don't I?"  Syaoran studied her, trying to find that evidence of life, but came up empty like all those times before.  She was like a shell, looking for all purposes like a mannequin, making small conversation, never giving an answer, never knowing one.  "Where's here?"

Sakura shrugged her shoulders.  "The country?  It's nice."  She swung a little higher, with a consequently shriller shriek of the chains.

Syaoran frowned and turned back toward the house.  The little square in the distance that suddenly rushed up again to lay flat against his nose, the gold gray shadows across the porch and quick fleeting glance of a coppery face behind the dusty window pane, bristled and gone.  Another blink, and he found himself on a dirt path, winding across the countryside, up a hill and disappearing behind the gentle mounds ahead.

"Makes you want to take a picture, ne?"  Sakura's voice was smooth, drifting by Syaoran's side.

He turned to her, looking at her body curve with the wind and the hills behind her.  "Yeah, like postcards."  

Sakura nodded, starting to walk down the dirt path, leading the way.  "Come on Syaoran, the weather's perfect for a stroll."

He nodded dumbly, falling into step beside her, noting the scenery amble by.  The field around them dropped gradually down to the farmhouse they had spotted from the hill.  The house seemed fractured to Syaoran, broken into sections that didn't seem to fit right.  The chimney rose huge and disproportionate from the center of the roof as the front door screen lay off its hinges in a slanted shrinking gradient.  Everything had coppery hue.  "The house is wrong."

Sakura gave him an inquisitive glance.  "No, it's not."  She caught his eye for a moment, and smiled suddenly, as if on cue.

Puzzled greatly, Syaoran turned back to the house, stumbling back as it stood normal again before him.  The right proportions, the faded green slats, the perfectly rectangular door.  He rubbed his eyes ineffectually.  Everything was still the same, rustic and real.  "What happened?"

Sakura gave him another appraising look.  "Is something wrong?"  She put her hand against his forehead, tilting her head to one side and frowning.  "You don't have a fever…"

Syaoran fought against the flush as he jerked away from her palm.  "No, I'm not sick, I'm fine."  

She didn't look convinced, but shrugged her shoulders anyway.  "Let's take a look around, ne?"

They walked slowly around the house, treading across the patchy lawn and taking in the brown stained wooden walls and the dusty fogged windows.  Syaoran's neck bristled occasionally, and he could almost swear he'd catch bare glimpses of a face in the darkened windows, but nothing was ever there.

"Look, a little garden," Sakura said suddenly.

Syaoran looked at the enclosed space, noting the sad state of the garden, if it could be called that.  It was probably a child's play garden, a few seeds scattered around and forced to grow.  Straggling yellow flowers thrusting up from the dark soil, half crushed under some animal's foot, half choked by matted grassy weeds that wound in between them.  "It's not much to look at."  He expected Sakura to say some half thought remark but found her silently staring off toward the swing topped hill.  "Sakura?"

She shivered and turned a strange eye to him.  "It's late; we should get back."

Syaoran followed her gaze, staring up at the navy orange sky, streaked with struggling sunbeams.  It just seemed like a moment ago when the noonday sun had beat down like a heat lamp.  "It's night already…"

Sakura nodded and walked toward the wheat fields behind the house, crushing the remaining yellow flowers underfoot.  "Let's go."

"Where are you going?"  The twilight orange haze brushed along her face callously, carving out hollows at her eyes.  "The fields, it's shorter if we cut through them."

Syaoran merely followed her, entering the maze of giant stalks of wheat, bushy heads that shook overhead.  "Do you know your way around?"  

"Of course…"

It was dark inside the field, shadowy and silent.  Syaoran walked quickly behind Sakura's dim back, trying not to trip on the rocks and exposed roots and debris along the walk.  The rows of wheat scoured his neck as he tried desperately to dodge them with no avail.  The rough feel of wheat hairs across his cheek, the gentle rustle as the wind trapped between the maddening rows fought to escape, the gathering darkness that pooled at his feet like an inky mist.  Turns and twists and lengths, all leading to seemingly more rows.  "Sakura?"  There was no reply, except for a nearby rustle.  "Sakura?"

"Syaoran?" Her voice floated towards him, drifting, coming from everywhere at once.  The rustling became more violent, circling around Syaoran.

Syaoran squinted hard in the fading light, making out the wilting wheat.  He cautiously picked up his pace, heading toward the rustling.  It moved and stopped intermittently, a soft scraping sound then silence.  "Sakura?"

The crackling stalks broke into a furious pace, again encircling him, but winding in closer.  

Closer.

"Sakura?"

He could feel it upon him, his body screaming to run, the heavy burdensome descent of danger.  Sayoran took off blindly into the maze, ruled by fear, tripping and stumbling.  Groping, grabbing, panting.

The rustling matched his speed, alternating sides, round upon him and crunching.

Crunching.

Syaoran flung himself faster, racing, diving forwards.  The rustling around him had stopped, another blanket of silence enveloping the field.  A single cricket chirped somewhere off to his right.  "Sakura?"

He walked slowly, parting the leaves from his eyes.  His heart flooded his ears, breath like the raspy pants of a winded runner.  And all around him was the silence.

Silence.

Every nerve told him something was wrong, overwhelming him.  Something was coming.  Fear swarmed him as the sixth sense of danger shook him.  He jerked around quickly just in time as a shadowy figure dive out of the wheat cover towards him.

Syaoran stumbled backward and all he could feel was the laugh, echoing in his mind, the flashing heat of something sliding across his right arm.  In the moonlight, the stranger's face was vicious, clown like, red streak across his cheek, something sharp in his hand. Shadows gouged out his eyes, the wide mouth baring sharp teeth, and all Syaoran knew was the fear.

_________________________________________

Syaoran sprang up off the couch, trembling uncontrollably.  The face kept a firm hold over his mind, sending waves of cold down his spine.  His skin rose in armies of goosebumps, still recalling the panic.  He moved to rub his arms in an attempt to dissipate the bumps but found himself smoothing a warm liquid along his right forearm.  As if on cue, the pain rose in his arm, a searing kind of burn.  Syaoran gingerly rolled up his sleeves, staring disbelievingly at the red smear across his skin.  Above his elbow was a neat cut, diagonal and deep.  He froze to the spot as the blood ran in a small river down his bent arm, gathering at the point of his elbow and dripping onto the glossy cover of a magazine…

____________________________________________

The figure twisted out of sleep with a quick violent breath.  He forced himself to his feet, dragging across the cold concrete floor to the large blank canvas at the foot of his bed.  The moonlight shone in through his one window, a square of white light bathing his supplies.  He smiled satisfied as he bent down to pick up his palette knife, a streak of wet red across the chiseled bottom.  The smile rose farther as he wiped the tool off across the canvas, smearing the liquid over the sheet in a rough sketch of a barn.

______________________________________________

Author's Notes:  Hmm..so that's it.  I was going for scary horror stuff, but I'm no Stephen King.  I think things are starting to settle into place.  I'm hoping I can write the next chapter relatively on time.  And please review.  Tell me how I'm doing.


	7. On The Beach

Author's Notes:  Okay, so I'm really really late.  Sorry, finals have been killing me this year.   Um, not much to say here except this chapter is on the day Sakura got stabbed, with a few plot changes and stuff.

Thanks to **nightshadow**, **riley s**, **LicyBabe2002**, **Meruru-chan**, **Rhea**, **^_^,** **laura**, **SnickerS**, **BCZeon27**, **bishounen lovah** (hmm…answers.  Don't know if I will. *smirk*), **Miya**, **Silly*Niecy**, **Peacewish**.

Dark Fantasy 

Chapter 8:  On the Beach

Syaoran knew it was Tomoeda beach, the little stretch of sand, the mix of tall and short buildings behind him across the street.  He also knew it was a dream; he was becoming an expert on reality and fantasy these days.  It was still summer as the air hung thick and hazy in the early morning sun.  It must have been very early, maybe seven in the morning if the beach was this deserted.  His commuter train always passed by here later, and there was always a developing crowd.  But here, nothing.  Just sand and water.

It was eerily quiet too, as if the breaking of the waves and rumble of the city were nothing more substantial than the phantom ocean in conch shells.  In fact as he stared at the rolling blueness, the waves barely seemed to move, almost seemed solid.  He slowly edged towards the shore to investigate, noting the strange way that his feet curved around rock hard miniature sand dunes and the way he didn't sink into the ground, instead traveling on top of it.  It was all wrong.  He knelt gently at the border between land and sea, landing softly on the rough hard sand that gave a strange hollow thunk in response.  

He leaned forward gingerly, reaching out warily toward a solitary wave, one that was as steady as his hand.  It was indeed solid, feeling like something completely other than water.  He traced a finger along the skin of the wave, skimming its rough texture.  Like coloured sand, rough and cold.  The sea stretched on like this, a frightening landscape of sharp curved waves, like thick blades, like tire shredders.  All blue and white, foamy stripes and colour gradients.  It looked deadly.

The beach wasn't any better, a crinkling plastic sounding plane, bumpy with moulded sand pits and speckled with dark blobby kelp-like paint strokes.  He shifted his weight back onto his heels as he stood up, slowly rearing to full height.  For lack of a better word, the beach felt brittle, no forgiving sand to cushion your steps, no texture of tiny grains to run through your toes.  It was as wrong as the sea was.

He turned to find Sakura; it was time for her appearance, just like his other dreams.  But all he found was the still empty beach, stretching desert until it disappeared around the curve of the harbor.  The waves continued to roll with their soft squishing sounds, the wind whistling like a human voice set on chant.  Actually as he listened closer, there were words floating around him, muffled, scratchy.  What was it saying?  As if wishing to help him, the waves began to soften even more, slowly dropping down to silence.  The wind blew harder, sandy, circling around Syaoran's ears, picking up intonation, enunciation, breathy words.  Shaaalooon.  Was it his name?  He strained to hear though the pants, trying to isolate the pitch.  Shaalan.  It seemed to come from one direction, down the beach towards the freeway.  It was calling.  Syaoran.  It was Sakura.

He tried to pinpoint the sound and took a small step in the direction, but froze as a sickening crack came from under his feet.  Looking down, his stomach sank at the cracks that now crisscrossed the land, centered underneath his shoes.  His palms felt uncomfortably moist as he tried to shift his weight, preparing to jump or run.  But it was all for nothing as the land gave way underneath him.  He fell through into darkness, surrounded by the soft accompanying sound of tinkling wind chimes and the prickly shards of landscape on his skin.  

When his vision began to clear, he was back on the beach.  His fingers sought a hold in the streaming loose sand, trying to pull himself up into a sit.  The smell of seawater and roar of waves rose up against him.  He scanned the land carefully, the faraway docks, the city skyline.  It was still Tomoeda beach.  The sun still hung lazily in the early morning sky; nothing had changed.

"Syaoran…"

Syaoran turned towards his breathless name, turning his back to the rolling waves.  "Who's there?"

"Syaoran…"  the voice continued from somewhere off to his right.

Syaoran squinted against the sun's reflection off some exposed rocks along the border of the beach.  "Where are you?"

"The biking path…"

Gently, Syaoran lifted himself off the ground, taking small steps and feeling relief wash through him when there was no thunderous cracking.  He knew where the bike path was, the thin little paved way that separated the beach from the city sidewalks.  The rocks rose a little as he continued to move towards the path, directing him towards the stairs.  "Where on the path?"

"Syaoran…"  the voice gasped.

Two, three steps at a time Syaoran climbed the stairs, finally at the landing.  The small black road crossed in front of him, empty save for bits of broken glass and usual beach litter.  

"To your right…"

He turned sharply to look down the path, stepping onto the pavement to get a better look around the bend.  He moved a little closer and frowned.  Something was peeking out from the bend, something indiscriminant.  Trash?  Closer.  Shoes.  Closer.  Legs.  His feet closed the distance faster, baring legs, shorts, a torso, a head.  Blood.  Sakura.  "Sakura…"

Green eyes fastened on him, her face pale but smiling, as if nothing were the matter.  "You found me."

Almost by instinct, Syaoran had rolled up his sleeves, and knelt down to assess the wound.  It was bleeding heavily and he knew there was no way to treat it outside of the hospital.  He tried to gauge how much blood she lost by her soaked tank top and shorts.  It looked bleak and his stomach lurched.  "Sakura, I need to get you to a hospital."

"Sure."

Syaoran picked her up, staggering to his feet and rushing towards the stairs.  They seemed to stretch forever until they opened to the road.  The hospital was still miles away.  Faint wails of an ambulance crept closer, the red flashing vehicle careening down the highway.  Syaoran almost sagged in relief as the lights became brighter, faster, burning.  

Syaoran crushed his eyes closed as the red light suddenly burst into painful pins.  Even through his eyelids he could still feel the heat and stinging.  His arms went numb and he tried to look down at how Sakura was doing, but it was impossible.  The red was everywhere, searing.  

Then there was nothing.

"What are you doing Syaoran?"

Syaoran forced his eyes open, finding himself face to face with Sakura.  They were on a dock, overlooking the harbor and ships that stood still on the horizon.  It looked noon as the dock was crowded with people, moving up and down the wooden platform and dodging in and out of souvenir shops and small restaurants.  "We're on the docks."

Sakura looked at him dubiously.  "Of course we are.  We've been here all morning.  Now stop being rude and shake Haruka-san's hand."

Belatedly, Syaoran realized he wasn't alone with Sakura.  Another man was sitting near them, easel propped up against the railing, in the middle of painting the sparkling seas.  He was oldish, probably barely past 50, white hair thinning, face hollow but still strong with wiry muscles.  Dark eyes watched him back, while skilled, strong steady hands flew across the canvas.  Syaoran felt a chill run up his side and stuck out his hand.  "Nice to meet you; I'm Syaoran."

The man's voice was gruff but affable.  "Nice you meet you too.  Sakura's talked a lot about you."  Syaoran gave Sakura a questioning glance but the man was already up on his feet and talking.  "…and so I thought this is the perfect opportunity to show Sakura the new sea shell craft stand.  How about it Sakura?"

Sakura nodded enthusiastically, dragging Haruka off into the crowd.  "Come on Syaoran, don't dawdle."

Syaoran pushed through the crowd behind them, but couldn't seem to catch up.  The farther he went, the thicker the crowd became, jostling him.  He was barely able to keep Sakura's head in view as he shoved people away.  Off in the distance a boardwalk musician was wobbling out a haunting melody from a violin.  The tune was drawn out, deep, resonating, breathing on Syaoran's skin and eliciting goosebumps.  He shivered mildly and kept following Sakura's retreating head.

He found himself standing in front of a tacky souvenir shop, Sakura nowhere in sight.  The crowd moved around him, dark points for eyes, walking like toy soldiers in random crisscrossing patterns.  "Sakura?"

"Syaoran, you have to see the view; it's really great."

Syaoran turned sharply toward the voice, flattening himself against the wall so that he could squeeze into the small space between the souvenir shop and the one next door.  "Sakura?"

"Come on Syaoran, move it."

Syaoran pressed forward, feeling the rough splintery wood against his palms as he moved toward the edge of the pier.  An extra burst of speed and he was pressed against the railing, staring down a small walkway behind the row of shops on the dock.  Sakura was nowhere in sight.  The waves rose loudly against his ears, the foamy waves crashing against the shore like whoosh of something just burst into flames.  They almost seemed to be beckoning, hypnotic.  Syaoran leaned over the railing.  Nauseousness rose high in his throat as he watched the squelching, sloshing green water break on the rocks and bleed into the sand.  He could taste the bile in the back of his mouth and feel his stomach's convulsive jerks.  Dizziness swept through him, spinning everything around him in a blur, spinning so fast that his breath lost itself amongst the blue and green streaks.  Gasping he closed his eyes, gripping the rail trying to steady the violent twitching that he could feel deep inside him.  Then he felt like he was punched in the gut.

When he opened his eyes, he was back on the beach, near the rocks and staring aimlessly at the blue blurry sea.  His breath came in short erratic hisses.

"Nice morning, isn't it?"

Syaoran twisted, overwhelmed by the smell of paint.  Haruka was sitting on a small fold out chair and painting.  Syaoran peered closer at the canvass and recognized Sakura's shape, laying out on the sand, the rocks towering up behind her.  

Haruka-san picked up another brush and viciously streaked across Sakura's body, thick unnaturally red lines scarring the painting.  "Very nice isn't it?"

Syaoran swallowed a bitter taste and dared to peer over Haruka's shoulder, only partly surprised at Sakura sprawled out on the ground a few feet away, purple red stained sand underneath her.

Haruka turned swiftly to face Syaoran, smiling in a cruel, frighteningly child-like curve of the mouth.  "She was beautiful, wasn't she?"

Syaoran nodded dumbly, an icy feeling shooting up his back.  He took a stumbling step forward toward Sakura, but knew instantly it was mistake.  A cracking creaking sound.  Then falling, faster and faster, his stomach securely pressed against his ribcage and his heart thundering in his head. 

_____________________________________________

Tomoyo looked worriedly around at the medical staff.  "Any change?"

One of the doctors shook his head.  "I can't really give him any more stimulants safely.  His pulse is already at 140."

"What happened?"

The receptionist twisted a towel nervously in her hand.  "He was waiting out here and then fell asleep.  We didn't think anything was wrong until you came out and we couldn't wake him."  

"Hold on."  The doctor bent low over Syaoran's body, listening closely to his breaths.  "I think he's coming out of it."

Tomoyo knelt down by Syaoran side, taking a cup of water and placing it firmly against his lips.  Soon his eyes began to open, pupils dilated and fixed on something over he shoulder.  "Syaoran, how are you feeling?"

"Who?  Tomoyo?"

"What happened Syaoran?"

Syaoran came slowly back to responsiveness, carefully sitting up.  "Another one."

Tomoyo pressed her lips together.  She knew he was talking about, and she was seriously worried now.  There was no precedent for this kind of disorder and it really disturbed her that she had no idea what to do.

______________________________________________________

Author's Notes:  Okay, well, I thought this was a weak chapter.  I'm thinking only 2 more chapters and maybe an epilogue.  Here's to a productive new year.  Cheers.


	8. Time Of Death

Author's Notes:  *avoids broken bottles and putrescent fruit*  Gomen nasai, I'm sorry, I'm currently in the middle of hell semester.  All of a sudden it's 3 months later…what the hell happened?

Thanks to **Riley S** (I think it'll be a S+S hinting ending), **Princess Kayla**, **lozza-pilgrim,** **starquestor**, **Meruru-chan** (he's real, in fact he's the killer. *grins*), **Adelaide**, **Ophelia** **Winters** (see?  I'm still in the CCS fandom…just really busy), **Miya**, **Rhea** (hehe, nope I definitely pinned it on Haruka; I hoped that implication came out clear), **jkb** (ha thanks for the review.  If you're into cutsie, sometimes strangeness, CCS is a pretty good fandom), **Ti'ana** (hmm…good question…I don't think I'm going to address it in the fic, but my own view is that Sakura's still alive so he can't continue killing, like an obsessive thing or unfinished business…), **silvershift**, **Lakshmi** (you just about summed it up.  It's not cough syrup; it's rather an obscure smell but it fits into the motif of my chapters, most of them anyway.  I'll get to explaining it at the epilogue).

Dark Fantasy 

Chapter 8:  Time of Death

"Tomoyo, I'm telling you there's nothing physically wrong with me; I'm just exhausted."

Tomoyo frowned thoughtfully.  "I can see that; you look like shit.  Now lay back or I'll sedate you."

Syaoran huffed and reluctantly laid back on the table, the giant white machine looming in the upper reaches of his vision.  "You're not going to find anything."

"I'll be the judge of that when we get the CAT scan back.  Now you know the drill."

"Yes, _doctor_."

"Good.  I may be a psychiatrist, but I can diagnose with the best of you."  The machine began a low grumbling whir, shaking the table slightly.   Tomoyo's face disappeared from Syaoran's view.  "I'll be back in a few minutes."  The door clicked shut as the table began to move and Syaoran approached the giant plastic tunnel disappearing into the dimness.  It was an oppressive experience, the claustrophobic darkness with the laser cross that shines overhead.  It held a strange lulling      quality mixed with the machine's insides churning.  Syaoran almost slept, but stubbornly held onto his wakefulness with an iron grip.  He'd had four hours of solid sleep last night before the nightmares; it had to hold him through at least today.  He fixed his gaze back on the glass and lasers, counting down the seconds.

It was some indiscriminate time later that Syaoran was slowly pulled out of the machine, reacquainted with the fluorescent lights.  Tomoyo was right where she last was, towering over him with that motherly worried look.  "Found anything?"

"Haven't looked; besides I'm not an expert in medicine am I?"

Syaoran grinned weakly and commanded his sore limbs to swing his legs over to the ground and get up.  He half sidled, half staggered towards the door.  The radiologist was looking over the blue green yellow computer scans.  Syaoran peered at them over his shoulder.  "There's nothing wrong is there?"

The man raised his eyes slowly and shook his head.  "Everything seems normal, for the most part."

Tomoyo frowned even deeper.  "Then what's wrong?  I'm almost certain it's not psychological.  There's psychosomatic, but this is ridiculous."  She cast a look over Syaoran's haggard features.  "God you look like hell.  Why don't you get some sleep?"

Syaoran shook his head viciously.  There was no way in hell he'd have those dreams again, not with Sakura, not with that man.  "No."

"I can get you some sedatives.  Some dreamless sleep will do you good…"

"They don't always work.  I'll be fine."

Tomoyo snapped at Syaoran and brought her hands to fold over her chest.  For a moment she looked frighteningly overbearing.  "You're not fine, Syaoran.  I'm getting the tranquilizers and you're going to bed.  Now."

Syaoran made a move to argue, but found himself up against Tomoyo's rare unbudging moods.  He reluctantly gave in.  "Fine, but I want to do something first."

"What?"

Syaoran was already halfway out the door.  "Just something.  I'll meet you at your office in half an hour."

Tomoyo sighed resignedly and nodded, unseen as Syaoran was already making his way toward the elevators.

____________________________________________________

Syaoran stepped out into the hall and grimaced.  It was so unnaturally quiet, a whole floor where staff shuffled along and patients slept and family members sat deep in thought.  He was going to visit Sakura; she'd know what was wrong with him.  Perhaps it was the irrationality of lack of sleep, but Syaoran knew Sakura was the key somehow.  It was inside her head, trapped.

He entered the room and found her curtain drawn.  The whole room was still as remembered it, a few changes, a patient gone, different flowers, newer versions of some of the machines, but the whole atmosphere was exactly the same.  He crept cautiously to the curtain and slowly drew the rustling striped fabric, the ball bearings squeaking a little.

He stopped as he came upon two sets of eyes watching him.  A brown haired man was sitting beside Sakura, apparently reading something; a book was open on his lap.  The other man with black hair was sitting on her other side.  He watched Syaoran warily, almost dangerously.  "Who are you?"

Syaoran looked down at his disheveled clothes and remembered he'd been put on medical leave two months before.  "I'm a doctor here.  Dr. Syaoran Li."  The dark haired man backed down, only slightly.

The other man, also looking slightly strained rose to shake hands with Syaoran.  "Nice to meet you, doctor.  Kinomoto Fujitaka.  Sakura's my daughter; this is my son, Touya." Touya merely inclined his head and said a half hearted 'hello.'  "Are you one of Sakura's doctor?"

Syaoran looked taken back a little before he realized he had absent mindedly taken up Sakura's chart from the foot of the bed.  "Oh, no.  I was the emergency doctor on call when she came in that day."

"Oh, I see.  Well…we still owe you thanks for saving Sakura's life.  Touya?"

The other man frowned and made some half attempt at speaking.  Eventually his face turned bitter, only marginally less so than his words.  "I'll give thanks when they find a way to wake her up."

Fujitaka winced.  "Touya…"

Syroaran interrupted in hopes of not having to deal with an awkward moment.  "No, I understand.  Her wound as life threatening as it was shouldn't have produced this kind of comatose state."  He began to flip through the thick chart, pages of pages of tests, serological ones, neurological ones, all within in normal parameters.  Her condition had absolutely no medical explanation.

All three men fixed their gazes back on Sakura.  Syaoran watched her slowly, feeling uncomfortable staring at the pale face, the overgrown hair.  Somehow he knew there would be the same green eyes lying behind the closed lids, the same voice in her throat.  He absently turned his eyes back down to the chart to avoid starting any longer.  Every time he imagined her, he felt his skin prickle with something you'd expect during watching a horror movie.  It was a fleeting, sickening, slithering feeling.  He pushed the thoughts away and stared harder at the illegible doctor scribbling.  The loops unaccountably began to quiver on the page, vibrate and turn upon themselves, thumping, trying to rip themselves off the page.  Syaoran dropped the metal clipboard and stumbled backwards.  He was only momentarily aware of his state of off balance before the darkness crept through his mind.

___________________________________________

Syaoran opened his eyes to find himself slumped on a plastic chair out in the ER waiting room.  He peered myopically through his unadjusted eyes at his surroundings.   The lights were off and the nurses' station stood empty among abandoned wheelchairs and gurneys stilled in the middle of the hall.  A vending machine flickered erratically to his left and the floor squeaked as he tried to stand up.  The low buzzing of the overhead ventilation system seemed wrong, distorted.  The sound pulsed, loud then soft, but always constant.  This was the ER waiting room, in some form anyway.

He frowned and stared out of the emergency entrance; there was black beyond the glass, no ambulances, no lit restaurants across the street.  It was a dream again.  He squared his jaw and walked cautiously to the nurse's console.  A dim light from somewhere provided enough to see the glowing sheets of papers and scratched metal charts.  There was no indication of where he'd be led this time.  Sakura would be here, he knew; she'd be somewhere, being infuriatingly vague, then she'd be dead…somehow.  He padded warily away from the desk; the sooner he found her body, the sooner the dream would end, and he might get some normal sleep.

The curtains of the trauma room were half drawn.  An empty gurney was standing amidst a litter of medical supplies.  Syringes, tubing, gauze pads all on the floor or twisted around the side rails of the bed.  A solitary machine kept pace noiselessly, weak dim little spikes appearing and disappearing on a plate of green black.  He moved on. The second trauma room was the same, and so were the examination rooms.  Medical equipment, empty beds, complete stillness.  

Syaoran found himself back in the waiting room, growing increasingly frustrated.  He had found nothing important.  He was walking in circles and something about the emptiness around him, the half forgotteness of the room kept his nerves on edge and skin cold.  What was he supposed to do this time?  He glared murderously at the chairs, the vending machine, the floor.  What was supposed to happen?

The elevator dinged.  Syaoran turned his head sharply to look at it.  The doors slid slowly open as if opposed by an enormous weight.  The inside was dark, unknown. It beckoned him forward and he followed.  The darkness stifled him, the kind of blue black that wasn't night, but more than halfway there.  The numbered buttons flickered sequentially, dancing across the panel.  He aimlessly pressed the button for the third floor, but it had no effect.  The doors eventually struggled close and the elevator lurched upward, slowly, languidly.

When Syaoran was again opened up to the sight of an empty expanse of corridors, he stepped out into the waiting area.  There was new sound here, a chorus of ventilators taking controlled breaths.  This was Sakura's floor.  The elevator dinged again and slid shut again.  He was trapped again.  At least he knew where he had to go this time.

Syaoran stood unmoving before Sakura's curtain.  It was drawn across the bed and he feared what lay beyond it.  The lights overhead were off like the rest of the hospital but the machines around him echoed with artificial breathing.  He steeled himself and yanked at the curtain, almost ripping the cheap fabric from the chains.  

A creaseless bedspread, puffed pillow.  The bed was empty; he had half expected it to be so.  In here, in wherever here was, Sakura was awake…in some form.  The bareness disturbed him.  Even the table normally overflowing with cards and flowers was wiped bare with only a sickly mustard yellow plastic cup reposing on it.  The scene was unlived in.

Where was she?  He shuddered as he felt something blow against his neck.  But there was nothing there.  It was unaccountably strange, the cool watery feeling of something brushing against his skin, his hands, his face, under his hair.  He turned around the room, only to meet the striped curtains.  His nerves were on their screaming at him and he escaped the room back into the hallway, away from the maddening shiver inducing touches.

The hallway was like before, dim, empty.  Where was she?

A low sound echoed around him, something that steadily developed into a low hum, a song.  Like some childish song sung melancholy.  He looked down the corridor and found girl standing in front of a blacked out window.  She glowed with a ghostly gray and she looked straight at him.

"Who are you?"  His words were foreign in the silence.

The girl didn't seem to hear him, still absorbed with her humming.

Syaoran took a few steps closer but still found himself separated by the hallway.  He walked a little faster but seemed to be making no progress.  The girl began to sing, her voice wavering.  It was strange sound, more like an instrument than a human voice.  Like a cello or a reedy wind instrument.  Syaoran began to jog, doors and chairs moving past him.  And yet he got no closer.

The girl at the end of the hall was different now.  Here ponytails had disappeared and she had grown willowy and filled out a high school uniform.  Her voice remained low and slow, if only slightly more musical.

Syaoran stopped for a moment to stare at her.  There was no doubt it was Sakura, only younger.  As he watched her still form, he registered a familiar acrid smell.  He stared down at his feet and grimaced as the floor had turned a pinkish hue.  The smell increased, a kind of sickening oily vinegary stench.  Soon the floor was red, wet looking.  Blood seeped through the tiles, darkening the cracks and spilling over the white surface.  The smell had begun to intensify, thickening.

He ran, trying to expel the smell in his lungs that rose thick lumps in his throat, that hung in his chest and squeezed his stomach and stung his vision.  Even his footsteps had become uncomfortable, as if running through syrup, low gurgling squishing sounds with every foot he slammed into the gathering purplish blood.  He pushed himself faster, focusing solely on Sakura who stood waiting for him.  The end of hall suddenly began to approach.

Syaoran slipped to a stop.  There was something blocking his way, like glass.  He banged against the surface.  Sakura was only a few feet beyond.  She had stopped singing and was watching him dead-eyed as he tried to break through the barrier.

Syaoran swallowed and coughed, anything to stop the involuntary urge to throw up.  The smell, it was unbearable.  It invaded him, filled him with a gnawing discomfort that he couldn't soothe.  He beat again against the glass futilely.  He _needed_ to get out.  He needed to escape.  The blood had now risen to his ankles and he could feel it sticking between his toes and soaking his socks through, a sickly thick lukewarm gelatiny feeling.  He spied a potted plant to his side and hauled it up over his head.  He _needed_ to break the glass.  He needed release.

The plastic base of the plant slammed against the glass, shattering it.  A blast of cold air burned across Syaoran's face and his mind lifted and faded out.

Syaoran fell back into himself and found himself staring at the red blinking lights of Tomoeda's skyline.  A familiar helicopter patch to his right confirmed he was on the roof of the hospital.  He spotted Sakura almost immediately as he scanned the concrete ground.  She was beyond the fenced in smoking area, standing statuesque on the ledge.  The dark cloaked her face and half of her body.  Syaoran approached slowly, undoing the gate of the break area.  The wind blew cold and fresh and he never took his eyes of Sakura.

Sakura's face fell into view, dim in the near dark.  Only the overhead blinking red light shone across her skin, wrapped her in a gauzy film.  She slowly raised her hands outward, a strange discomforting impression of a slow dive.

Syaoran felt his stomach drop.  He rushed towards her.  Just as she fell backwards, he managed to grab onto an outstretched hand.  Her feet slipped over the edge and the force or her weight dragged him half over the edge, precarious from following over the precipice.  Only his legs were able to grip hard against the ledge.  He groaned as his arms felt like they were being ripped out of their sockets.  "Sakura!  Hold on!"  His voice sounded strange in the air, disused and disharmonious in the silence that was all bathed him.

Sakura dangled, limp form, limbs hanging like wind beaten branches.  She was silent, darkened eyes fixed beyond Syaoran's straining shoulder.  If Syaoran's death grip on her wrist hurt her, she showed no signs.  

Syaoran grit his teeth and strained his muscles to bring Sakura up.  He couldn't get leverage with his body bent over.  His knees burned pushing futilely against the ledge; his fingers were white and slippery with effort and he couldn't help fearing that the slightest movement could bring him over too.  The wind blew serenely up his shirt, numbing his neck, spiraling down his arms, caressing his fingers.  It felt hot, humid…wrong.

Something touched his ankle, circled around them.  Syaoran wrenched his head back toward the dark.  A red tinted taught wiry face smiled at him.

The hands jerked, pulling Syaoran's legs off the ground.  The action was fast, the off balance, the off-centeredness.  He slid off the edge, the feeling of being out of control as his body left the roof.  His heart thundered in his chest and all he could focus on was Sakura's eyes, half dead, half inquisitive.  And the ground rushing up to him at a frighteningly fast pace.

___________________________________________

Tomoyo left the elevator.  Syaoran had not shown up at her office as he promised he would.  She knew he'd be here, and she'd give him a good lecture.  She walked down the hall, noting abstracted that some orderlies and nurses and doctors were running past her.  They turned sharply into Sakura's room.  Tomoyo frown and walked a little faster.

The scene that met her was a chaotic mess of people, machines and noise.  Doctors were shouting orders, nurses scrambling around.  And on the floor was Syaoran… She rushed over towards to the doctor and nurse tending to him.  "What happened?!"

The doctor put down Syoaran's wrist.  "Don't know; they said he passed out.  His heart's erratic; we need to get him to a room.  Where's that gurney?"

A nurse rushed into the room with two orderlies wheeling in a bed.  They hastily lifted Syaoran's prone form onto the mattress.  They were about to rush away when a frantic beeping sounded across the room.  

Tomoyo turned towards the sound.  Two people she hadn't noticed before were rushing towards the sound.  The brown haired man yelled for a doctor and Tomoyo felt like she had entered a nightmare.

She found herself running down the hall at Syaoran's side while the nurses pushed the gurney.  The other doctor had to rushed to attend Sakura.  Tomoyo frowned worriedly down at Syaoran.  They burst into an empty room where the nurses quickly began to get to work and Tomoyo stood silent feeling useless.  Sure she had the training, but she was only a psychiatrist afterall.  "What can I do?"

One of the nurses looked up from attaching the heart monitor.  "Find him a doctor.  His rate's getting more erratic."  The nurse turned back to Syaoran and stared somberly at the jumping spikes on the black screen.  "It's still rising."

Tomoyo nodded faintly and commanded her feet to move.  There was no time to waste.  She ran out into the hall and collided with another nurse. "Nurse, we need a doctor."

"I'm sorry, I can't help you.  The Kinomoto girl just coded."  

Tomoyo watched her go with a sense of tension, something knotting up in her throat.  It wasn't a coincidence was it?  She ran down to the nurses station and found no one there.  She snatched up the phone and dialed down to the ER.  "We need a doctor up here now.  Dr. Syaoran Li is experiencing heart trouble."

The voice on the other end of the line paused.  "Tomoyo?"

Tomoyo sighed in relief.  "Terada!  Syaoran passed out a few minutes ago and we can't get his heart rate down."

There was a minute pause.  "Damn.  We're swamped down here too Tomoyo.  A pile up on the highway.  There's another on the way, painter who they think had a heart attack."

"We need help up here. He's really bad.  I don't know what to do."

Another tense silence.  "Okay, I'm going right now.  Where are you?"

Tomoyo breathed in relief and looked towards Syaoran's room.  "331.  Hurry."  She slammed down the phone and ran back to Syaoran's room.

A bare minute later, Terada rushed through the door and began to dictate orders.  The nurses injected various things and Terada kept a firm gaze on the heart monitor.  He turned a worried look to Tomoyo.  "His pulse is still going up.  If we can't get it down, he's going to crash."

Tomoyo nodded dumbly and caught the two men who were at Sakura's side out of the side of her eye.  There were standing in the hall, watching the nurses and doctors rush sided around Sakura.  Their postures said it all, the slumped defeated shoulders.  Syaoran's monitor began to scream.  Loud.  Urgent.

This really was a nightmare…

________________________________________________ 

Author's Notes:  Sorry about the cliffhanger.  This has already been a long chapter (I'm making amends) and its finally spring break.  No promises, but I'm going to really try to get up the next chapter next week.  


	9. Speakeasy

Author's Notes:  Sorry, the months just seemed to fly by, but I really should have gotten off my bum earlier to get this done.  It's fairly long, for me anyway, so I hope it makes up for the wait, somewhat.  Also, if you notice any discrepancies in logic, my explanation is that dreams don't make perfect sense.  So I'm cheating, what of it?  Just humour me, okay?

Thanks to **Ti'ana**, **Meruru-chan** (heh, I'm just a tad late right?  It's here, it's here!), **Ophelia Winters,** **lozz-pilgrim** (well, you know with dreams and stuff, there's many, many loopholes), **Lakshmi** (you are pretty much on the mark.  The cherry smell is actually benzene, but artists use it as a paint thinner just like turpentine, which I think is closely related.  Just for that I officially dedicate this chapter to you!)

Dedicated to **Lakshmi** whose perceptiveness figured out the eerie smell.

Disclaimer:  CCS, not mine.  This story, no money involved.  Eyes, want to sleep.  Good night.

Dark Fantasy 

Chapter 9:  Speakeasy

The ground spiraled in closer around Syaoran and the black tarmac grew to encompass the entirety of his vision.  His heart was lodged deep in the pit of his stomach as he dived headlong towards the pavement.  And when he slammed into it, a powerful, shuddering burning pain spread suffused his entire body.  There was no consciousness of where he had connected first; his whole body was awash with same fiery twisting agony.  His bones twisted and broke apart under his skin, the raw white spears tearing ruthlessly into connecting muscle.  And accompanying the pain was an odd sense of disconnection where his vision was steady but his brain seemed to rattle around in his head and melt.  

The tremors of the collision ripped through him and he screamed for all he was worth, until he was raw in the throat and smothered with the pain that kept recirculating in his chest.  When he felt as if he would be seared straight through, the ground dissolved away and he felt himself falling again, like falling through the surface of water, with his heart pounding madly against his shattered bones.  Free falling through molasses and then suddenly buoyed up with an undulating force, held up like a sacrifice, propped up vertical.

And nothing else was real to him until his eyes once again began to take in what was around him.  His whole body ached, but mercifully with a only dull sense of being battered.  The sky above him was black, framed with the rising walls of two tall buildings.  A dangerously unstable looking fire escape jutted into his right peripheral vision and he could start to make out the sounds of car tires on wet road and the eerie scuffling of shoes.  He tried to crane his neck to explore the rest of his surroundings, but the searing pain erupted with the slightest movement.

Time trickled by like the metallic stickiness that dripped from the corners of his mouth.  His head still spun with a disconcerting nausea and his limbs weighed him down as if they were driven into the wet concrete ground and pinned by invisible bonds.  But as the neon lights began to flicker into existence and the alley began to lighten with the cumulative fluorescent effects of awakening lamps, his body fuzzed over and tingled.  It was an itchy sensation, growing deep inside of him and spreading over his face and into his head.  It manifested itself by causing hypersensitivity, so acute that he could feel the precise detail over how the ground was sharp with glass and pebbles and how the dark night was overcast with thick gray lines of clouds and how the crunching of the car tires in the background grew lower in pitch as it sped away.

It all added up in his mind and screamed at him to move.  The contact with the ground was too unbearable, the sounds too raw.  He slowly moved his fingers and was relieved at the absence of red haze inducing pain.  Soon his arm was carefully bending up towards his head and he was tentatively pressing his palms against the ground and putting his weight on them.

The buildings spun a little as he stood up on his feet and he was acutely aware that his feet were numb and seemed ready to buckle under his weight.  But he managed to slowly turn around and lean against the brick wall of one of the buildings.  The sight before him was very familiar.  The street was slick with recent rain and cars were passing intermittently across his vision.  Only a handful of people were walking about on the sidewalks, men with coat lapels up to shield out the wind, women carrying bags, teenagers talking animatedly to each other.  The billboards above the building across the street glared with green and red lights, offering a new and exciting deal to all who were fans of a local radio station.  Win big indeed, thought Syaoran as he righted himself and began plodding forward, feeling his legs become sturdier and his footsteps surer.  

He knew this street very well, it was only a block away from his apartment.  In fact the little Chinese restaurant he usually got take out from was just a few stores down from his current position.  His stomach growled and he remembered the time when he was with Sakura in the noodle house.  The thought of her seemed to flick a switch in his head and a deep sense of dread clenched his stomach. This was still the dream, and judging from what had happened on the hospital roof, there was a dangerous maniac lurking somewhere.

Goosebumps trailed up one arm and down another.  It was then that he noticed that despite the normal sounds of everyday life, there was a strange roboticness to every action.  The teens walked exactly five paces and burst into laughter, then another five and the same laughter.  The shoppers alternated beats between their footsteps and the rustling of their shopping bags, and the cars crunched the road in rhythm to each other in drawn out bursts of scraping.  Even the billboards buzzed with a measured certainty.

Syaoran carefully emerged onto the sidewalk and frowned down the street.  He had no idea which direction to go, but it wasn't as if it mattered.  Somehow he'd be caught up with.  And he was right because at that moment a taxi came roaring down the road and screeched to a halt in front of him.  The door popped open and a raucous jazzy blaring of trumpet and piano throbbed from the stereo.

He stepped back, startled at the sudden entrance of the black car.  But nonetheless he peered in and squinted in the dimness.  Staring back at him was a pair of green eyes and a cheeky grin.  

"So where to?"  Sakura asked, while chewing noisily on some gum and popping a few bubbles with loud rhythmic snaps.

"Sakura?"

"That's my name.  Where are you heading mister?"  She smiled the same meaningless curve of the lips and nodded her head along to the strange pulsating music.  "You getting in or not?"

Syaoran eyed the street around him uncertainly.  Something prickled against his skin and the more he stood underneath the flickering neon gaze of the billboards, surrounded by the hypnotically discordant notes of the radio, the more he knew that something dangerous was approaching.  But he was caught in whatever this was, this unintelligible plot and he could do nothing but acquiesce.  He nodded gravely and slid into the passenger side seat. 

Sakura gave him another vacant smile and drummed her hands on the steering wheel.  "So where you going?"

Syaoran had no idea; the lamp lit street laid in front of him, the two curbs converging to a fuzzy point at the horizon.  She had given him the decision for the destination but he knew that the decision was not in his hands, it was what the dream demanded, what whatever had created this world wanted.  And he had no illusions about Sakura either, as he watched her bobbing head and bouncing hair.  She was just as human here as she was in that coma ward.  She might have been next to him in the physical presence but her body had no consciousness.  It was only a tool for something, and he knew enough to let her fulfill her mission.  "You decide"

An almost lifelike smile appeared on her face before descending behind the plastic mobility of her blandly pleasant face.  "You're the boss.  Tokyo Tower it is."

Syaoran grimaced.  He looked towards the metal structure through the window of the cab, looming high above roofs and lit red, a monolith of steel.  Whatever awaited him there it wouldn't be harmless.

The drive was a quick one, the scenery jumping ahead with the bass from the radio.  Whole blocks disappeared between point A and point B, all under the malevolent gaze of an anaemic moon.  Sakura, herself was as animated as ever, tapping her sneakers and fingers to whatever bits and pieces of melodies drifted from the speakers.  Occasionally, she'd stop, and the music would fade and then restart with them having skipped another block or another district.  It was when they jolted to a stop underneath the massive feet of the tower that she turned and stared at him for a long moment with almost sentient eyes.  Her voice dropped low and solemn, her eyes turning away from his and staring up with a touch of fear towards the top of the tower.  "He's up there."  The air hung heavy with apprehension for a fraction of a second before she turned her gaze back to him.  "So am I…"

As the last word died into stillness, Syaoran could feel the cold run through him and a slight pressure settling on his shoulders, pushing him against the ground.  His ears ached and popped and only then was he aware that he was now traveling up the tower in an elevator.  The ground was getting farther and farther away and through the glass walls Tokyo spread out before him like the expanse of an open field, dotted with millions of square molehills.

When the elevator slowed to a halt and the doors parted, he found himself rooted to the spot and couldn't bring himself past the threshold.  The observation deck wasn't the open viewing platform and many small fast food counters that the real Tokyo Tower had.  This was a walled in lounge, padded with overstuffed sofas, scattered with green leafy potted plants and choked with the dim, perfumed atmosphere of a demure piano bar.  Even the carpet underneath his shoes was foreign, lush and airy instead of rough and industrially close cropped.

Even rich sparkling chandeliers hung overhead, casting long jagged rainbows against the walls.  But it was not the room that stopped him at the elevator doors.  It was Sakura, draped over a scarlet sofa in the center of the room.  When she raised her head slightly to acknowledge his entrance, he knew that whatever she spark of life she had down at the base of the tower was no more.  The eyes were vibrantly green, but without animation.  She was in a strange dress, sequined and beaded, slipping off her shoulders.  Flashy jewelry across wound around her neck and wrists, rubies, diamonds, emeralds.  Her hair was crimped and matted close, in a way that was exotic but overly foreign.  It recalled to him the American 'Roaring Twenties' that he had seen a documentary about a few years back.

But the spell that had bound him to his spot disenchanted when a familiar sharp toned voice called out to him.  He then realized Sakura was not moving for a reason:  she was posing.  Posing for the white haired man propped off to her side, face and body half hidden by the large canvas and easel before him.  He worked dexterously with gritty swishes of his brush, occasionally plunging into globs of different colours on the palette on his knee.  Haruka looked up momentarily and locked his dark eyes on Syaoran.  "Why don't you join us?"

Syaoran hesitated but finally took a tentative step into room.  He had to keep reminding himself that the frail looking man, smiling at him in a friendly fashion was a dangerous criminal.  That Sakura was in fact one of his victims.  

As if Haruka knew his thoughts, he smirked in Syoaran's direction.  "You want to know why."

Syaoran took another step towards furthering the distance between them, prowling in a slow half circle.  "Yes."

Another few quick dabs and scrapes against the canvas.  "She's beautiful isn't she?"  He gestured to Sakura.  Syaoran made no reply.  "You know she is.  Such beauty shouldn't be destroyed; I am preserving it."

Syaoran made a sound of some kind to keep him talking as he took careful inventory about the space around him for potential weapons to defend himself with.  "You kill innocent girls.  How is that preserving beauty?"

Haruka smiled condescendingly at Syaoran, as if the light of wisdom was beyond the grasp of the simple Chinese man.  "Beauty is short-lived."  As if to illustrate his point, he put his brushes and palette down, got up and went to crouch down at Sakura's side, taking a savage hold of her face by her chin.  He pointed the emotionless face up at Syaoran, pressing the red painted lips together in a nasty parody of seduction.  "This beauty only lasts so long.  Before it sags and wrinkles and dries out.  And this body, it fills out and loses its perfect lines.  In death, the memory of beauty is preserved in art."

Syaoran, having spotted a heavy looking glass bottle of liquor at the base of Sakura's couch, sneered.  "_Art_?  Murder is art?"

Haruka remained unaffected.  "If that's what it takes."  He let go of Sakura' face, letting her head drop back to her three quarters profile view. 

Syaoran suppressed a shudder at the cool self-assured tone that Haruka had spoken with.  "So why stop?"  As sleep starved as he had been, he had devoured all news regarding the mysterious serial killer during his extended sabbatical leave.  Sakura had indeed been the last victim and the news agencies were warning of the 'lull before the storm.'

Haruka's eyes actually seemed to twinkle.  "I don't continue until I've captured everything.  Her picture is unfinished.  It lacks vitality.  Life."

Syaoran took a secretive step towards Sakura.  "Because she's still alive.  She didn't die like the others,"

"If you will."  Another flurry dabs and strokes.  He met Syaoran's eyes.  "But it has been a fortunate occurrence.  It's given us a gift of these dreams, hasn't it?"

Syaoran frowned.  He had taken it for granted that his dreams were the conscious act of some extraordinary person.  He wasn't a spiritual person.  But Sakura was clearly only slightly more than a puppet and Haruka seemed genuinely innocent of this specific machination.  But that didn't mean he wasn't a cold-blooded killer.  Syaoran inched forwards slightly in soft stunted movements until he was hovering over Sakura's prone form.  If Haruka had noticed his approach, he was oblivious of the fact, eyebrows furrowed into a deep crease between his eyes, the picture of concentration.  Syaoran looked down at his feet and nudged the glass bottle with his feet.  It was definitely heavy enough should he ever needed it.

Haruka seemed to be attuned to his growing apprehension and executed a particularly violent slash of colour across the canvas before setting his paints and brushes aside.  He rose calmly from his seat yet in a quick movement, brandishing a gleaming bit of metal.  His voice was somewhat bemused in an ironic kind of way.  "People don't seem to realize how well a weapon a plaster knife can be."

Syaoran pushed down his rising fear and snatched up the bottle from the floor, holding it out before him in a defensive gesture.  His other hand grabbed Sakura's arm and yanked.  But she was dead weight, shifting slightly but still limp across the velvet cushions.  Haruka was getting closer, the vicious short knife menacing in the crystal filtered light.  Struck by a last desperate thought Syaoran looked up at the chandelier above, dangling with prisms and flame shaped electric bulbs.  There really was only one chance.  Hoping for the best, he flung forefully the bottle upwards and hunched over to protect himself and Sakura.

The din of shattering glass and the crackle of electricity sizzled through the air.  Sharp pieces rained down all over around Syaoran and he noticed that the air was suddenly impregnated with a smoky bitterness.  He dared to untuck his head to see Haruka also stunned and hunched over to protect himself from the glass.  But Syaoran's attention was drawn immediately to the sparking remains of the chandelier and the dark alcohol that was aflame all over in patches on the furniture and carpet.  At that moment, Haruka unbent and in front of the backdrop of flames and littered crystal, he looked indescribably nightmarish.

Syaoran fumblingly grabbed at Sakura again, scrabbling to lift her off the couch before the fire licked her sequined dress or her pale cold skin.  As he hefted her weight away from the sofa, he was painfully aware that he could never hope to outrun Haruka with the extra burden.  Besides, there was nowhere to go.  He backed up a few steps, but his space was limited, trapped by the spreading fire.  Haruka was steadily getting closer, materializing through the thickening acrid smoke one limb at a time.  Burning furniture surrounded him and he tried to kick a burning throw pillow at Haruka.  The older man easily dodged and it tumbled past him, but then with a muffled crack crashed into the easel and landed flat on the canvas, wet paint shimmering in the fire's light before it leapt onto the white canvas and consumed it with a malicious crackling sound.

The smoke was getting even thicker and Syaoran was feeling its effect, his eyes stinging and head spinning.  Haruka stopped his advance and had leapt towards his burning painting, desperate to put out the blaze, even trying to use his bare hands to smother the blue orange flames.  And through his tearing eyes, Syaoran could see the horrifying image of the fire jumping and catching Haruka's clothes.  And then he shut his eyes hard against the resulting agonized howl and the stomach turning stench of charred flesh.  He still remembered from his residency the water welts and broken crusted boiled pustules the patients in the burn ward had.  The dizziness and nausea spun around him faster and faster, and an enormous pressure on his shoulders seemed to want to pound him into the ground.  His body creaked and his muscles tore apart and his eyes felt the searing red of his blood boiling.

He screamed in agony.  And then his body dropped out of sensation all together.

_______________________________________________

Terada wiped the slick sweat off his forehead with the already soaked through sleeve of his shirt.  "How high?"

"Still 170, doctor."

"Shit.  Push another 500 milligrams."  He lifted up one of Syaoran's eyelids and shined a light into the distressingly small pupils.  He looked up at Tomoyo, frozen in horror off his left.  He tried to hide the growing futility on his face but she saw it anyway and paled considerably.  "We're going to bring him back Tomoyo.  We _will_ bring him back.  What?"  The nurse was tugging urgently at his sleeve.

"Doctor, it's going down.  Fast.  130 and dropping."

Terada sighed in disbelieving relief and spied the full hypodermic in the nurse's hand.  "Did you push the last 500?"

"No, doctor.  I was just going to when his pulse just started to slow down all of a sudden.  It's at 110 now."

Terada frowned.  What had just happened?  He caught Tomoyo's relieved face, still sick looking and ready to collapse but relieved nonetheless.  She just stared back at him.  "How?"

"I don't know.  It doesn't make sense…"  They stared at each other in wordless confusion until another doctor arrive in the doorway and shook his head dazedly.  Terada noticed the strange silence in the ward.  "Was it the Kinomoto girl?"

The man nodded slowly.  "Just coded for no reason at all.  And then right before we were going to shock her, she just started breathing again.  Pulse returned to normal like nothing had happened at all.  I don't understand it..."

Terada took a worried look at Syaoran and then at Tomoyo.  "I know the feeling."

Silence drifted over the room again for a few minutes before another nurse knocked on the door.  "Sorry to bother you Terada-san, but that local artist with the heart attack just died.  A few reporters want a small statement.  Should I tell them to wait?"

"No."  He took a final look at Syaoran to make sure everything was satisfactory, willfully squashed his confusion, and forced himself back into the role as Chief of Staff.  "Alright nurse, where are the reporters?"

Tomoyo watched Terada disappear behind the metal doors of the elevator.  The nurse and the other doctor had both left too and she was alone with Syaoran and the slowly beeping heart monitor.  And an inexplicable mystery.  A few doors down the hall was the Kinomoto girl, another piece of the impossible puzzle.  Tomoyo slid fatigued into a badly padded chair at Syaoran's side and tried to find a logical explanation of all she knew, but when her pager beeped her urgently an hour later, she still had no answer, only many more questions.

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Author's Notes:  Well, one more major chapter to wrap everything up, and then probably a happy S+S epilogue.  Drop a review, won't you?


	10. Half Forgotten Nightmares

Author's Notes:  Oi, another late chapter, but almost done, this fic is.  Just an epilogue to go.  Yatta!

Thanks to **starquestor** (well there's some mystery there too, just wait and see), **Emi-hime** (well, you're very right.  I started the story with a concept of having many non-related fantastical dreams), **Meruru-chan**, **Blushing Sigh**, **cherryblossomsakura2111** (nope, no magic.  I wanted a plot with the impossible happening without logical reasoning), **Lakshmi** (I used turpentine once with pastels but I like benzene more cause it smells better…carcinogenic, but nice smelling), **Riley S**, **Eclipse2** (the whole dream thing is kinda unexplained, but the murderer is revealed), **silvershift**, **Lemon Parade** (yep, in this chapter), **Chena Pan**, **Light in the Darkness**, **Fylleth**, **Candyland**, **somnambulating**.

Disclaimer:  CCS is not mine; this story is not intended to make me fabulously rich.  That's what my world-dominating monkey guided, lithium ion powered death ray is for.  Patent pending.

Dark Fantasy 

Chapter 10:  Half Forgotten Nightmares

Syaoran awoke to the overpowering smell of disinfectant and the sight of sterile walls striped with pale sunlight.  Lingering about him was also a faint half there smell of smoke.  A strange lightness filled his head, hazy and spotted without the usual accompanying after nightmare nausea.  He felt restful, if that was word to describe it.  Or at least he felt restful until the dissociated light-headedness receded and he became acutely aware of how much his body ached.  Every joint felt like it had been bent and stretched and left to tighten and cramp up.  He tested his limbs and winced at their soreness; he wondered what he had been doing to garner such pain.  Half thoughts and pictures were drifting through his head but he couldn't hold onto any one of them long enough to put together a full picture.  Everything seemed so unreal at the moment, and the last definite thing he could remember was talking to Tomoyo after the CAT scan.  How long ago was that?

He winced as he moved an arm up to rub his eyes and even more as he opened his mouth to yawn.  He laid there for a bit, eyes drifting open and shut transiently, halfway to falling back asleep, when the door opened and a nurse stepped into the room.  He observed her through the corner of his eye as he half slept.  She picked up his chart and made a few marks, checked the monitor a few times and pushed something into the IV bag hanging at his side.  His eyes became weighted down even more and he closed them for longer periods of time, until he couldn't find the will to open them again.  He slept.

The next time Syoarn awoke, he was much more alert, and his body felt less tight and more pliable.  His vision fell into focus a little more readily this time around, and he swept his gaze fully over the room.  Standard hospital room, looked like he was alone, the other bed stood made but empty on his right.  Cautiously, still partly remembering the agony of trying to move however many hours ago it was, he pushed himself up the bed until he was in a sitting position, leaning against the pillows.  He found he wasn't particularly sore at all now.

He delayed calling the nurse; there were memories to sift through and categorize into reality, fantasy and nightmare.  He could dimly recall the Tokyo Tower, different as it was now, laid out in a strange new fashion but no definite details arose.  Sakura was there he knew, just because she always was.  It was strange that his other dreams left vivid, detailed impressions, but this one faded and refused to be caught.  He was still puzzling over the smoky taste in his mouth when Tomoyo entered the room.

"Syaoran, I'm so relieved you're up."  She drew a chair over to his side; she looked preoccupied with her hospital badge askew.  "I was afraid to let them give you any sedatives, because of the whole Kinomoto connection.  Who knows if you'd wake up?  But as usual you real doctors won out.  Besides, I knew you'd just as likely get out of bed against doctor's order, you stubborn ass."

Syaoran frowned at her small speech in confusion.  His mind was still a whir of real and false memories.  "Sedatives?  Why?" he asked, clearing his voice afterward for it was too rough and unused.

"Don't you remember?"  Tomoyo frowned along with him.  "You went up to see Kinomoto-san, and you just fainted.  And you're heart rate went up so much, we thought we were going to lose you.  You almost gave me and Terada a heart condition ourselves."  She smiled weakly at the memory.

Syaoran tried to recall what Tomoyo was talking about, but couldn't.  "No, I don't remember any of that.  Last thing I know, I was talking to you after that CAT scan."

Tomoyo nodded contemplatively.  "Hmm, as a psychiatrist, I can probably say that you're subconscious is sheltering you from the trauma of the incident.  I think there's harm letting the memories rest undisturbed."

"Yeah, that's probably best.  I think I had another dream, but I can't remember that either…"

"A dream?  As in with _her_?"

"I think so; I'm not sure.  There's no change in her status I suppose?"

Tomoyo laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.  She shook her head and let out a long sigh.  "Well, you don't remember, but she had her own scare.  Coded for a few minutes, and just as miraculously as you, recovered all of a sudden.  I can't even begin to tell you the chaos around here when both of you were trying to beat each other to the grave."

Syaoran laughed at the black humour.  "Believe me, I didn't plan it that way.  Is she alright though?"  He felt a subdued alarm stir in his stomach; he could see Sakura in his head, draped across some sofa with the flames leaping and flicking all around her.  And the overwhelming smoke…

"Syaoran?"

He stirred out of the thought to find Tomoyo looking worriedly at him.  He knew the look; it was one that said she was going to bribe the orderlies and nurses to keep him in bed for days to come. "Sorry, I blanked out for a moment."

"Tell me about it; I thought you had dropped right off into sleep with your eyes open."

"I was just thinking of something.  What were you saying?"

"I was telling you the good news.  Kinomoto-san woke up in the middle of the night.  Just opened her eyes and sat up.  I'm telling you she scared the hell out of her family and the night nurses.  They could've sworn they gave her enough sedative to knock a person out for at least a day."

"She's awake?"  Syaoran digested the information with some doubt, but he was also very relieved at the prospect.  Something told him, her awakening was a sign that they were both out of danger.

"Oh yes, they've checked her over and everything, many times in fact.  They can't find a single thing wrong; her tests are coming back normal, just like when she was in the coma I hear."

"Hm."  Syaoran nodded, having another half remembrance of flipping through Sakura's chart and taking note of the many blood panels and neurological exams.  "Another mysterious occurrence right?"

Tomoyo laughed a little at Syaoran's half embittered frown.  "Well, I think of it as a miracle, but you being Mr. Realist, I suppose we can call it an inexplicable mystery."  Syaoran's stomach grumbled and she laughed more assuredly this time.  "I guess it is time for a late lunch, ne?  Although from what they're serving, I think you're better off starving."

"Maybe you could sneak me in something from the cafeteria?"  Syaoran thought of the many mashed and sickly green things they loaded onto trays and passed off as food in the hospital.  It could've been the stuff of nightmares in its own right.

"Well, it is against doctor's orders, but seeing as how the hospital food is much more likely to off you than a sandwich from upstairs…  I'll get you something light.  Soup okay?"

"Sure, thanks."  Syoaran watched Tomoyo leave the room and looked at the clock again.  One on the dot.  The line was sure to be long enough that he might be able to slip out and tie up some loose ends before she came back and discovered him gone.  He felt a strong compulsion to talk to Sakura; she held some of the answers he was looking for, he was sure.

The ward was like it always was: silent and empty.  Syoaran hoped that they hadn't moved Sakura yet, or else he'd have to look around for her and Tomoyo was sure to find him gone and have him locked in a room so he could 'recover.'  The door to Sakura's room was open and a few voices drifted through.  Syaoran stepped through and spotted Sakura almost immediately.  She was sitting up in bed, looking alert and talking to the two men by her side.  For a person who was in a coma for months, she looked refreshed and in high spirits.  She chatted excitedly with her brother and father, switching her attention from one to the other.  She was a new person in Syaoran's eyes, the person he never got to meet.  He didn't feel the dread that he used to when he looked upon her, the subtle touch of fear that her image brought up in his mind.  There could be nothing more innocuous than the sight of her here now, talking and laughing.  Even when she first spotted him at the doorway and fell quiet, he couldn't feel the same undercurrent of danger.

She looked hard at him, face drawn in concentration and remembrance.  She whispered something to her family and they whispered back, but she shook her head and they slowly and reluctantly got up and headed towards the door.  

The black haired man stopped at his side before passing through.  "About what I said yesterday…I apologize."  His voice was hard, strained, impersonal.  

Syaoran just stared.  He had no idea who that man was, and what he had said to him yesterday.  He shook off the questions in his head and walked gingerly to Sakura's bed, as if a wrong step might plunge him back into a nightmare.  He took the chair that the brown haired man had abandoned and sat down.

Sakura was the first to break the silence.  "Tou-san told me that you saved my life down in the emergency room.  Thank you."

Syoaran almost sighed in relief.  For a moment, he could have sworn she was going to say something creepy and disappear.  "You're welcome, though I wish I could've done something to help you during the coma…"

"I'm sure you did your best; the other doctors couldn't find an answer either."  Sakura sighed and fingered a long strand of hair, holding it out in front of her to see.  "I can't believe it's been five months; it's winter already.  Yesterday I was jogging along the beach."  She shivered.  "I didn't think Haruka-san…"  She trailed off, looking a little haunted.  "I don't think I have any real memories these past few months, but I-I get the feeling I owe you a lot."  She looked to Syaoran, grateful and confused at the same time.  "I feel like you've been helping me and…saving me?"  She laughed then, a comfortable amused laugh.  "I'm probably just imagining things; I've been told I can get carried away sometimes."

Syaoran laughed with her for a bit; it was a very natural and easy thing to do.  She was a likeable person in real life.  He turned a little solemn recalling the dreams.  "Sakura, I can't really explain what's been happening, but I can't help but believe that you might have experienced it too.  I've been having these strange dreams.  You were in them, and Haruka too.  They didn't make much sense, but they were very real."

Sakura nodded quietly with a faraway look on her face.  "I _do_ remember, I think.  It's all blurry; I mean I just know I've seen you before.  There was a lake, and…some kind of restaurant?"  She shook her head in frustrated concentration.  "Sorry, I can't think straight.  But I somehow know you were there, really there and you were keeping me safe.  I actually asked Touya if I had a boyfriend that I couldn't remember; he looked like he was going to kill someone."  She laughed at the thought, and Syaoran guessed that Touya was that black haired man who had apologized to him, without seeming to mean it at all.  "But I think I was asking about you."  She avoided his eyes.  "Uh, I mean, we're not…right?"

Syaoran had a mad urge to blush and he squashed his own embarrassment down.  "N-no, we aren't."

"Yeah, that's what I thought.  I would've remembered you more if that was the case."  She dared to meet his eyes again.  "But um, I wanted to really thank you.  I'm being released today, and Touya and Tou-san are going to have a little welcoming home party thing tonight.  I'd like it if you came.  We could, uh, get to know each other better?"

Syaoran surrendered to the flush that was creeping up his neck and his face pinked considerably.  "Y-yeah, I'd love to come."  

He found himself outside Sakura's room five minutes later with her home address and Touya's suspicious and slightly menacing glare directed toward his back.  Another five minutes later and he was on the receiving end of a Tomoyo speech on his need to stop being a reckless idiot and take care of himself.  This said as she ominously waved around a pair of padded restraints.

It was half an hour later into his enforced rest that Terada stopped in to visit him.  The chief of staff threw himself into the chair at Syaoran's side, looking hassled and grateful for a cushioned seat.  "You're looking much better, Syaoran, considering everything you went through yesterday."

Syaoran sat up a little, leaning into the pillows.  "Really, I haven't felt this good for a few months.  And…thanks.  For saving my life, I mean."

Terada brushed it aside with a hand gesture.  "It's not as if I did anything.  You recovered on your own.  Still damn strange, but I'm not complaining.  After all, I'm assuming in another few days, I'll have you back on staff?"

Syaoran nodded, surprised at how much he really did miss his job.  "I can be back tomorrow; I'm feeling very rested.  I can't say the same for you."

Terada sighed angrily and slunk deeper in the seat.  "A few pesky reporters keep hounding me."  At Syaoran's surprised look, he tossed the newspaper he had in his hand up onto the bed.  "Apparently our local artist was that nutcase killing girls at the beach."

Syaoran suppressed an eerie sense of paranoia and hastily flicked open the paper.  The headlines screamed from the front page:  'LOCAL ARTIST REVEALED AS SERIAL KILLER!'.  He found the article and began to avidly read, devouring the words.

**'Police announced this morning that the beach serial killer has been identified as local artist Haruka Toru.  This is confirmed after the police had received a positive identification from Haruka's last and only surviving victim, Kinomoto Sakura early this morning.  It appears that Haruka made acquaintance with his victims before he struck.  The motive for his killings remains unknown, and the police have begun a search through his apartment and possessions in hopes of finding answers.  Haruka was rushed to Tomoeda hospital yesterday after he collapsed during an art show at the docks.  Witness report seeing flames on the man's clothes, but the reports are unsubstantiated.  Haruka was pronounced dead at 12:45, half an hour after his arrival.  The cause of his death is still unknown but unofficial sources say that death was most likely due a heart attack.  The Tomoeda Reporter has received confirmation that the hospital will release a statement about Haruka's death this afternoon…'**

Syaoran stopped reading as the article went on to conjecture the reasons behind Haruka's madness.  He had the feeling he probably knew why, if only he could remember some more details of his last dream.  As it was, he refolded the newspaper and handed it back to Terada.  "It seems straightforward enough; why are the reporters still bothering you?"

Terada scowled.  "You know reporters, always looking for gossip and drama.  They keep asking if Haruka said anything as he died, like some kind of deathbed confession.  They just can't accept the fact that I was wasn't the attending doctor, and I hadn't even seen Haruka until he was long gone."  He rolled his eyes and made a sound of disgust.  "And then some of the nutjob tabloid journalists keep pestering me about whether Haruka arrived with any burns.  As if someone set him on fire or he went into spontaneous combustion.  I just don't know these days who's more insane, the serial killers or the media."

Syaoran's smile froze at the mention of fire.  Something stirred in his mind and he could see Haruka in front of a backdrop of flames, the fire eating away the background and jumping onto the painter's clothes, engulfing him.  The scene left as quickly as it came, and he shivered as a coldness gripped his bones.  "He was on fire?"

Terada stopped mid rant and sighed in harried exasperation.  "No, that's what I've been trying to tell you.  I went over him at the morgue.  No burns, no welts, in fact his clothes had no signs of having caught on fire at all.  It's all just hysterical witness testimonies and badly thought out tabloid journalism."  Terada frowned a little.  "And yet, it was strange while I was checking him over, I could swear there was a smell of smoke, like something was burning."  He shook his head in dismissal.  "Hell, those reporters are getting to me. The smell could've been his art chemicals for all I know.  He died of heart failure, simple.  Why can't they just leave it there?"

Syaoran nodded stiffly and yawned.  He found he was suddenly rather tired.  Terada noticed too and got up onto his feet, tucking the newspaper under his arm.  "I'll leave you to rest.  When you wake, you can call the nurse to get some check out forms, but only if you agree to take the rest of the week off."

"Alright, alright.  It's already bad enough Tomoyo's on my case."  Syaoran settled onto his back and watched Terada leave.  Alone, his small bout of humour fell away and he let his mind wander a little.  Haruka was gone.  Sakura was back.  He was back.  Relief flooded him and he felt strangely at peace.  He breathed out a deep breath and settled back into the mattress gratefully.  He would put everything behind him.  He didn't even care that so many things were let unexplained.  All he looked forward to was a dreamless sleep and simple ordinary things like talking to Sakura a little more tonight.  He yawned and closed his eyes.  When Tomoyo came in to check on him five minutes later, he was in a deep, restful sleep.

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Author's Notes:  Epilogue to go.  Also, sorry to those who were hoping to get an explanation of why and how Syaoran, Sakura and Haruka were able to share dreams.  Besides the fact that I don't know, I never intended to explain it.  It's meant to be one of those things that happens without a logical reason, like those unexplainable mysteries/miracles out there.


End file.
